


Love isn't brains children, it's blood.

by Acherona, trulywicked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Fluff, Hunter!John, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Post Reichenbach, Romance, Vamp!lock, Vampires, Violence, eventual smexxing, horrible parenting, mystrade, mythical creatures, sort of casefic, supernatural themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 154,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acherona/pseuds/Acherona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulywicked/pseuds/trulywicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was a man of many secrets, somehow though he had managed to miss that his normal, average John Watson has some secrets of his own. With the Fall and hunting down Moriarty all those secrets are coming into light, were will they go from here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Любовь детей не учит, только кровь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037153) by [Sevima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevima/pseuds/Sevima)



> Here we are with a new Sherlock story from us. This one has supernatural themes to it, happily mixes the world of Sherlock with the world of myths. We hope you like it.
> 
> Also, title to this story is taken from the episode Lovers Walk from Buffy the Vampireslayer.

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part one._ **

Sherlock watched as John stood at his grave, an odd squeeze in the center of his chest where his heart beat in its sluggish manner. He knew that most of the idiots who’d fallen prey to the romantic notions of his kind would be shocked to discover that their hearts did beat, just much more sedately than humankind’s hearts. To bring his pulse up to a human rate he’d have to force his heart to beat faster or have just gone through an extremely exercising event. There were many things humans got wrong about his kind, they could eat, had reflections, did not sleep in coffins, didn’t burst into flames in sunlight, and they did not turn to ash once killed. When his kind were killed they left behind a body, a corpse just like anyone else, though it was much harder to successfully kill them than it was to kill a human.

Being immortal had perks but it didn’t equal invulnerability. Not to death and, more distressing for Sherlock, not to love. A vicious motivator he’d called it once and indeed it was. It ripped and tore at the heart and he did not like it. He might like it better if he could reveal himself to the man breaking down just a little in front of his false grave and if it could have hope of being reciprocated some day but the first was out of the question and the second was highly unlikely, such a low probability as to be insane to even contemplate it.

He watched John walk away from his grave and once more cursed the fact that vampirism didn’t come with a soulless, heartless existence. It was extremely unpleasant to be feeling this guilt and sorrow.

John couldn’t believe the gall of Sherlock, standing in the shadows just watching as John poured his heart out. His eyes narrowed as he doubled back after leaving the cemetery and sending Mrs. Hudson away with a cab safely. He made sure to stay downwind of his flatmate, best friend, vampire and the love of his life, as fucked up as that thought was. 

He saw Sherlock still standing in the grove of trees, looking toward the grave where no one lay. John’s feet didn’t make a sound as he snuck up on the supposedly dead consulting detective. 

“You are a right fucking git, you know that right. A lying tit of a bastard. How could you do that to me? Just decide to take a flying leap of a building without warning. You are my best friend, the one I trusted more than anything and you go and do this moronic thing.” John’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. He couldn’t believe how utterly pissed he was with Sherlock. “Do you have any idea what this could have done to me? If I didn’t know that you can’t die from such a leap I would have been gutted you bloody bastard.”

Had anyone else been watching they would have seen an unheard of occurrence: Sherlock Holmes’ jaw dropping in speechless shock. Thoughts clicked, flicked, and ran into each other, all of them centering around John and his last comment. “What?” Not the most articulate thing to say.

John was practically vibrating with rage and any other time seeing Sherlock floundering in shock might have been a lark but right now it only fueled his anger. Without a second thought he pulled his left shoulder back with all his strength behind it, he planted his fist in Sherlock’s face, hearing the satisfying crunch of bones breaking beneath his knuckles. It wouldn’t do any real or long term damage to the vampire but it would hurt for the moment and that was enough for John. The answering throb in his split knuckles was definitely worth it. “I can’t believe you, how could you do it?”

Sherlock had landed on his arse from the force of the blow, hand cupping his nose, “Fuck.” It hurt, badly. He was used to minor injuries but he hadn’t had a broken nose since the Victorian era and John’s fist had hit like a sledgehammer. He knew his friend was strong but that had taken him by surprise. Vampire bones and cartilage were stronger than human bones so the force required to break them was greater, that John carried that much strength in his compact body was both fascinating and embarrassingly arousing and the scent of his own blood didn’t help.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wiggled it around until it was back in the proper place and looked up at John, still holding his nose as the first stage of healing took place, “I had to.”

“No you didn’t. You didn’t have to do things this way.” John loomed over Sherlock before reaching for the lapels of that ridiculously sexy coat and hauled the vampire to his feet. “You are not alone anymore Sherlock. I thought you got that. Do you really have so little faith in me that you thought that I couldn’t help?” John was still growling, feeling both angry and hurt. John had forsaken a whole life of training when he moved in with, befriended and finally fell in love with the infuriating bastard of a man in front of him. That Sherlock still didn’t count on him...it hurt.

“Yes I did John. There were three snipers assigned to shoot if I didn’t ‘kill’ myself. One on Lestrade, one on Mrs. Hudson, and one on you.” He wrapped his fingers around John’s wrists, feeling the tension and strength and anger there. He was tempted to use a thrall to calm John down but he wasn’t entirely certain that would go over well if John was one of the people who were resistant to enthrallment. 

“Fine, I can understand that you had to jump.” John pulled away from Sherlock’s grip and started to pace, watching Sherlock from the corner of his eye. “But your actions afterward are inexcusable. You were actually going to let me believe you were dead, without any thought what that would do to me, how it would destroy me.” It was a statement, not a question. “You’ve seen me fight, seen me shoot and two people taking care of three snipers is a hell of a lot easier than doing everything on your own.” 

“If I’d told you you’d have immediately come after me. The snipers would have been alerted and carried out their orders.” He carefully squeezed his nose, testing how much it had healed so far before finally lowering his hand to wipe the blood away, cleaning it off his hand with a handkerchief. His own blood was never particularly appetizing.

John sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Contrary to what you might believe, I’m not completely moronic. I’ve been to war Sherlock, I’ve been trained for battle since before I could walk. I know better than to have run after you like a dog seeking its master.” His hand ached, his split knuckles oozing blood sluggishly but underneath the anger his heart ached more. “You know what...Fuck this, fuck you.”

Sherlock fought down the panic that tried to rise in his throat at that and instead reached out to pull John around to face him, eyes narrow in deduction as he put together John’s words since sneaking up behind him and then they widened just a bit, surprised once more flickering through them, “You’re a hunter.”

“No, I am a doctor, a soldier. I may have been raised a hunter but I’m not one.” It had never sat right with John, hunting and killing beings for no other reason than that they were different, that they needed blood to survive and were considered immortal. Live and let live was his motto. As long as they didn’t went rogue and killed without thought then John had no problems with vampires...hell he was in love with one.

Sherlock’s brows knit, “How long have you known about me?”

“Almost since the very beginning. It wasn’t really difficult to figure out, doesn’t need much sleep or food. Quick reflexes and just the way you carry yourself. You wear who you are just like you wear your coat if one only knows where to look.” John answered honestly; he had no energy to do otherwise.

How could he have missed that? Missed that John knew what he was, that John had been raised to _hunt_ what he was? How could he have overlooked the clues that were now bubbling up in his memory? The simple answer was trust, John had shot the cabbie to save him, it would have been too early for John to discern his nature then. John had killed to protect _him_ after only a day and a half of acquaintance, not just that but he’d refused Mycroft’s bribe. Because of that he trusted John enough that he hadn’t bothered looking deeper into his flatmate, assured that he wouldn’t hurt him. No point in refusing a bribe or killing the cabbie if he was going to hurt him.

And John was right, he realized with deepening chagrin. His training as a soldier alone would have kept him back, had him thinking as he always did in a combat situation, the hunter training would have just added extra layers of caution onto that. “Forgive me.”

The muscles in John’s jaw worked and flexed as he ground his teeth together. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose as he turned to face Sherlock taking a step closer to the taller man. “Always, I suppose I’m a masochist since I’ll always forgive you.”

The tight clench in his chest went away and Sherlock squeezed John’s arm gently before releasing him. “Can you stand being in Mycroft’s presence then? There are plans to be made.” What he meant was essentially ‘Come with me, come play with me John!’ that would have best been spoken in a high squeaky child’s voice.

John’s eyes gleamed with excitement and amusement as he replied. “Well I suppose I can suffer his company as the plans are made.” His grin was as the sun, John couldn’t help himself, no one made him feel as Sherlock did. No one fed all his needs like Sherlock, John didn’t want to give that up, not for anything. 

“Suffer would be accurate. There’s a car over the hill,” he nodded in the direction opposite the one John had walked away from the grave then began walking, only slightly pausing to make sure John was beside him as they made their way to the car. 

John was happy that the easy companionship was back between them. He wasn’t one to hold a grudge, he’d spoken his mind and punched Sherlock and now he had forgiven him. It really was as easy as that. His love for the other man would remain hidden; he knew someone as amazing as Sherlock would never look twice at a normal, human ex-army doctor even if romance had been ‘his area’. Having Sherlock’s friendship was enough. 

He slid into the car after Sherlock and felt the leather seat mold itself to his body. “Say what you want about brother git, he knows quality in cars.”

“He should, they’re one of his indulgences. His garage is crowded; soon he’ll have to add another annex.” Sherlock fiddled with the seatbelt strap before firing off a question to John, his insatiable curiosity already taking hold and wanting to learn more about the hunter line he came from, “Long family line or recent?”

“Long, the Watsons in some shape or form has been hunters for close to a millennium.” John had been force fed the ‘proud’ history of their family since infancy. Both his father and mother reciting the written down journals and the stories passed down orally until he just wanted to bang his head against the nearest hard surface just to make it stop. 

“Ah, that explains the ease you had getting the appropriate force,” he rubbed his nose, already healed completely, “Even as a soldier that punch would have been difficult for most people,” his lips curved up, “Of course you are never most people.”

“Nope and don’t you forget it.” John grinned at him. “You’re right though, our line has evolved, some extra strength and speed...to even out the playing field a little. To my family’s shame and disappointment I was never very interested in playing though. That’s the reason we don’t even talk anymore. I’m the huge disappointment of the Watsons.”

“More fool them,” it was softly spoken, “Before blood banks and clubs where it’s easy to find a willing, knowing donor the hunters were needed. Too many vampires hunting, especially fledglings who don’t have control just yet, causes bloodfever. But now, no one needs to hunt any longer. I would say you’re one of the very few who’s brain evolved along with the physiology.”

“Stop it, I might believe you actually harmed that massive brain of yours jumping off a building if you continue complementing me. It nearly wigs me out.” John smiled though, taking the edge off his words. “But you are right. It’s not healthy living in the past, regurgitating past glories and wanting nothing more than to relive them. The world is a different place today, it changes with every passing day and one has to change with it to have any chance of a true life.”

“Good job you moved in with me then, keep you out of that trap.” He smirked at his friend and stretched his neck with a low almost moaning sigh. “I am actually tired. Damn that little mad bastard and the tangle he set up.”

“Well make plans to burn the web he weaved and before we carry those plans out you will sleep and you will feed.” It wasn’t exactly a straight out order but it wasn’t a mere suggestion either. John would take care of Sherlock since the git was too stubborn to do it properly by himself. “I expect that Mycroft has a well stocked fridge of blood.”

“Mmm, yes of course he does.” The firm tone in John’s voice triggered a cascade of fantasies in the back of his mind, the majority of them involving John in his uniform, some of them with Sherlock’s riding crop. He had a feeling that he shouldn’t wear his favorite pajama bottoms when he slept. He didn’t want them to stain if he had a wet dream.

“Good, then that’s settled.” John looked out the window at the passing landscape. Trees and green fields giving way to the hustle and bustle of London, he liked the city, felt at home in the smog and crowds, the pulse of London was like a living heart, a rhythm John could live his life by. “Oh by the way, does Greg know what you are?” That was something that John hadn’t been able to figure out and it wasn’t as if he could come straight out and ask the DI either.

“Not unless Mycroft shared that information with him, no.” Sherlock pulled out the new phone Mycroft had arranged for him and brought up some research. “I don’t doubt he might suspect the existence of vampires however he tells himself that the occasional strange body is simply someone getting too into the Hammer films.”

John nodded to himself as Sherlock spoke. "Mm, Greg's much too smart not to suspect something like vampires exists but he's also a very practical man so it might be that he doesn't 'want' to know." He paused and then looked to Sherlock with furrowed brow. "Why would Mycroft share something like vampires existence with Lestrade?"

Sherlock looked up from his phone, lifting a brow, “Come now John surely you don’t think you’re the first my brother has attempted to bribe into spying on me? Mycroft has known Lestrade as long as I have, though only recently has it become biblically.”

John's jaw dropped, the attempt to get Greg to spy on Sherlock he could understand but the other thing...he couldn't picture a more implausible couple. "Greg is sleeping with Mycroft?" His voice was filled with disbelief. "I can't imagine two more different people." 

“Indeed, an ordinary Detective Inspector and the Master vampire of Britain? Likely not to end well,” he controlled his amusement at John’s astonished expression, “Certainly not when Lestrade stops being willfully blind. Hmm perhaps he’ll shoot my brother.” He sounded inordinately pleased by that possibility.

"You are much too gleeful about the prospect of that happening." It was supposed to come out chastising but since John couldn't stop grinning the effect was rather ruined. "Perhaps it will end well though; perhaps it will work because they are so different." Deep down underneath a slightly jaded surface, John still wanted to believe in love.

“Not if they don’t have something more than babysitting me in common. Imagine those conversations.” He fired off a text to his brother, telling him to have an extra setting for tea. “Of course it’s likely it’s just sexual between them, certainly I’ve not see Lestrade accompanying Mycroft to the opera.”

John wrinkled his nose a little at the thought of Greg and Mycroft doing the nasty, it was an image he didn’t want stuck in his head. “Jolly for them I say, let them bump uglies to their hearts content. As long as neither of them doesn’t end up dead, then I don’t care.”

Sherlock made a vague sound of agreement. “Then to change the subject, how much have you been holding back during cases to keep me in the dark,” here he pouted just a bit at the incredulous thought that John had managed to hide something from him, “about your hunter abilities and training?”

John shrugged and gave Sherlock a rather sly look. “I couldn’t exactly use my hunter abilities could I? You would have recognized those moves instantly. I haven’t been holding back too much though, you are a challenging man to keep up with Sherlock Holmes.”

He smiled at John, “Well all the better not to bore you. No holding back when we start unraveling the tangle Moriarty left. I imagine you’ll need all your skills and abilities to help me handle it.”

“No point in hiding now that you know that I know.” John smiled. “I’m actually looking forward to showing you just what I’m made of.” John wasn’t super strong or anything like that but he could hold his own in a fight.

Sherlock found himself absolutely appalled at how quickly his mind managed to turn that into a dirty phrase. Not so much because of the images it brought to mind, those were mostly intriguing, but because his mind really shouldn’t be as focused on the potential sexual aspects enough to almost immediately make an innocent statement something filthy, even if it was John saying it. He gave his attention to his phone again in an attempt to avoid thinking things that would give him a visible problem, “Hm, yes. I rather look forward to that myself.”

“Once Moriarty’s web is handled maybe we can have a spar, just for the hell of it. See if I can’t whip you into submission.” As soon as the words were out John wished he could take them, oh how he wished he could take them back. His feelings for Sherlock were supposed to be buried deep and ignored in favor of keeping his friendship, that was very much difficult when his mind provided vivid imagery of just how he could get Sherlock to submit. More than a bit not good.

Sherlock’s thumb slipped his control just a bit and hit the screen of the phone hard enough to crack it. Dear God if he wasn’t having fantasies before he certainly was now. And as usual his mouth ran away from him, “Hm I’d like to see you try _Captain_.”

Stupid. _Stupid_. That purring line held all too much of his interest in John for heart’s safety.

John threw Sherlock a look from the corner of his eye as he filed away the other’s reaction. He’d noticed both the cracked screen and the lowering of Sherlock’s tone of voice. He didn’t know just what it meant but he would examine it later, when he could freak out in private. If John’s feelings weren’t as one-sided has he’d believed they were, then he actually didn’t know what to do but he would have to do something. He’d learned something from living with Sherlock though and that was that more data was acquired. 

“Yes, Captain. I was an army doctor but still a soldier, I promise you that I could drill the men under me until they cried.”

He crossed his legs because he’d just lost all hope of keeping his mind clean and if he weren’t a vampire with sluggish blood flow he’d be blushing. He gave a little too much attention to tucking his phone away again, he’d have to tell Mycroft that it broke when John punched him because he was not admitting to any sort of loss of control in front of his brother. “Ah but I’m not under you am I?” More was the pity, his over active brain provided from the peanut gallery.

“Not yet but I’m confident I could bring you to your knees in battle.” John flexed his hand, watching his bruised and split knuckles from punching Sherlock. He didn’t have the perk of accelerated healing so he had to live with his aches. Still it had been very much worth it, bruised knuckles were nothing against a bullet in the shoulder, lodged in the bone. 

Sherlock almost made a whimper of relief as the car stopped before he could say anything about ‘only in battle’ or get too deep in a fantasy of being on his knees in front of John, preferably naked. “We’re here so you’ll have to convince me that you could have me on my knees at a later date I’m afraid.” Oh God time to get himself out of the car and away from this conversation. He opened the door and slid out with his usual grace.

John followed Sherlock out of the car, less graceful but with a small smile playing over his lips. Oh he would have fun collecting the data he needed. He felt more alive than he had in a long time, even living with Sherlock. He looked up at the unassuming, tasteful building. One couldn’t see that a Master vampire resided there but John figured that was the point, he took a deep breath and followed Sherlock inside.

_To be continued…_


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Two._ **

Sherlock waited in front of the door for a moment and nodded at the woman opening it, “Anthousa. Is he in the office or sitting room?”

Mycroft’s PA gave him a bland stare, “Office.” She glanced at Dr. Watson, her only comment on his presence a slightly twitched brow.

John couldn’t help but give her a cheeky grin, he was in a very good mood and he was not going to let a stroppy PA ruin that. “Lovely day we’re having here don’t you think?” He grinned again before following Sherlock into the depths of the house toward what he guessed was the office. 

“Oh yes. Simply wonderful.” She closed the front door and tried to get ahead of Sherlock before he simply threw open the office door, unsuccessfully.

Sherlock stood in the doorway with his usual dramatic flair, smirking just a bit at the utterly aggrieved look his brother gave him from where he was on the phone.

Shooting his little brother an annoyed glare, Mycroft wrapped the phone call up as quickly as he could without being rude. Sherlock would only get more irritating the longer Mycroft would keep him waiting. “Sherlock, so nice to see you remember all your manners.” Mycroft smiled an utterly fake smile at his brother. “And Dr. Watson, what a pleasant surprise.” Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as he looked the shorter man over. Something was different; there were an aura of power around the good doctor now, an aura he recognized very well. “No...Perhaps I should say hunter Watson?” This was unprecedented, how could a hunter have lived under his nose and he hadn’t known? Mycroft did not like this at all.

“Doctor is fine Mycroft, I’m still just me.” John shrugged.

From the moment Mycroft’s eyes had narrowed on John, Sherlock had perked up, his eyes gaining that excited, extremely pleased gleam they usually took on during explaining the hows of a fascinating case. “Oh. Oooooh John you hoodwinked Mycroft as well.” He was very nearly bouncing with glee. “Oh this is positively brilliant.”

John just grinned and winked at his best friend much as Sherlock had done during their first meeting. He had to admit that it was amusing having been able to keep his hunter abilities hidden from Mycroft as well, he had honestly not been sure if Mycroft knew or not.

“I fail to see the amusement in this.” Mycroft’s tone was stiffed. He tried to explain it with dangers to their safety but the truth was he didn’t like a human having been able to pull one over on him. It shouldn’t have been possible, he should have known.

“Well of course _you_ would,” he swanned his way over to sprawl in a chair across from his brother. “I don’t think John was aware he’d kept you in the dark, mostly omniscient as you are.” A smirk played over his lips, “Which makes it all the better.” He wanted to taunt his brother with not knowing about the Watson hunting family but he knew John wouldn’t appreciate him endangering his family like that. Whether they got on or not, they were still John’s family.

“Will you be needing anything sir?” Anthea looked to Mycroft in question, more than willing to call some enforcers to take care of Dr. Watson if it became necessary.

“No thank you Anthea, I think we have everything we’ll require here.” Mycroft’s tone warmed slightly as he spoke to his PA, she really was a marvel of efficiency, he was lucky to have her as an employee. Mycroft may not like not being in the know but he knew that John Watson didn’t pose a danger to them. If he’d wanted to hurt them he would have done it when they were unaware of his abilities. Also he might be a hunter but Mycroft was still the Master vampire of London, it would take a lot to take him out, Mycroft wasn’t worried.

She nodded and exited the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

Sherlock continued to lounge indolently, he didn’t want to expend the effort to sit properly at the moment, “So, what of Moriarty and the snipers?”

“Moriarty’s body disappeared before we could get to it as you know so I think it is a large possibility that the man is still alive.” Mycroft leaned back in his leather chair.

John stiffened at that, if there was one person he really hated it was James Moriarty.

“We have been able to trace the snipers so we have a rather good idea about where they are. All aside from the one assigned to John here. Sebastian Moran seems to have gone underground. Not even my best trackers have been able to sniff him out.”

Pale eyes narrowed, “Entirely too clever. He’d be guarding Moriarty if he’s alive, I believe. There was a scent beneath Moriarty’s own, in his skin, gun oil, jungle, and leather. Could have been Moran.”

“Very possible.” Mycroft nodded. “Moran is a fellow ex-soldier John, a colonel before he was dishonorably discharged. After that he supported himself as a mercenary before he teamed up with Moriarty.”

John tapped his fingers against his knee as he thought about what was being said. Wondering how they would be able to flush Moran out. “Perhaps we should let rumors of Sherlock being sighted spread. If he hears that he would come out to finish the job he was assigned right? I don’t mind being live bait.”

“No,” it was a growl coming from Sherlock, tension gripping him where he sat all of a sudden. “No one is playing bait.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss that idea Sherlock, it could actually work.” Mycroft argued. “We would of course keep watch over John every step he took.”

“Oh yes, just as you did with Moriarty and Moran?” He pinned his brother with a look, “And how well that turned out. Both are missing, presumed alive and dangerous. Forgive me if I do not hold particularly high trust in your surveillance capabilities.” He gave Mycroft an insincere smile. 

Mycroft answered that with a flash of fang, irritation bristling under his skin. He was not fond of having his mistakes pointed out to him. “Why don’t you come up with a better plan then little brother.”

John rolled his eyes at the two of them.

“Have you searched for any family Moriarty might have?” A lift of a brow.

“Of course I have.” Mycroft let out a sigh. “Unfortunately Moriarty is as good as covering up his secrets as you are baby brother.”

“I can’t appropriately plan without all the data Mycroft, nor can you. We need to know where he comes from. Have Anthousa consult Delphi?”

Mycroft nodded slowly. “I can ask her to do it, that’s not something I can order her to do but I can certainly ask.” Mycroft was getting terribly distracted by the scent of John’s blood even though it was mostly dried now on his knuckles. There was only one human Mycroft had any wish to feed from directly but the scent of John was still distracting, his blood smelled enticing and sweet and it made Mycroft hungry.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, recognizing Mycroft’s distraction. He certainly was sharply aware of the smell of John’s blood, just as he had been in the car, but he was so _used_ to the presence of blood, especially John’s as he had a talent for getting injured, that it was only distracting when in large quantities. Mycroft was older, by roughly seven decades, so he _should_ be less susceptible. “John there’s alcohol in the drawer of the sideboard, if you would please clean your hand off. Apparently my brother is not very good at ignoring it.”

“I can too ignore it, it’s just distracting and I haven’t fed in a while.” Mycroft sounded petulant. 

John moved to get the alcohol and a cotton swab from the drawer, dabbing his knuckles with it and hissing slightly as the small sting. It was rather strange, them smelling his blood from such a small wound, there were more bruises than blood. It didn’t bother him though, if any vampires had self control it was the Holmes brothers. 

“The fact that you find it distracting means you are not ignoring it.” He caught John’s quelling look across the room and pouted just a bit before dropping the subject, “At the moment, with the data we do have, it would be best to take out the snipers you’ve located and continue to search for Moran and Moriarty.”

“I agree, Kativa and O Halloran can be taken out before the week is over.” Mycroft nodded, glad for the change of subject. “Do you wish them to made an example of or should they simply disappear and be disposed of?”

“Just disappear them. You can make an example of Moran once he’s found.” As much as it angered him to have Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade put in danger it wasn’t enough for him to want to turn those behind the scope into bloody, pulpy warnings of who not to threaten. However Moran, as the one who’d have shot John, him he wanted to be the corpse equivalent of a neon billboard. No one, absolutely no one came after John without risking so much more than their lives. “Unless you have a personal reason to make an example of one of them of course.”

Mycroft drummed his fingers against the gleaming wood of his antique desk. “As much as it would please me personally I think it’s easiest to simply disappear them. I have other means to let Britain’s underbelly know just what and who is off limits.” 

“Greg is a big boy, more than capable of taking care of himself.” John walked across the room and sat back down, having finished cleaning his knuckles.

Mycroft gave Sherlock an almost betrayed look. “You told John?”

“He asked if Lestrade knew about me being a vampire, I told him that unless you’ve shared the information then Lestrade didn’t. John requested further explanation,” he shrugged as if that said everything. 

“John is also right here in this room and can speak for himself perfectly well.” John waved a hand in the air.

Mycroft ignored that. “I have not shared the information so Greg doesn’t know.” His eyes were still locked on his brother. Him not having told Greg what he was, what he and Sherlock were...It was rapidly becoming a very big problem since Mycroft had fallen hard and fast. He had lived for centuries and never felt even a smidgen of what he felt for Gregory Lestrade.

“I would advise that you inform him soon, lest he decide to shoot you once he takes his blinders off. Not that it would bother me, it would, in fact, quite make my day.” He smirked at Mycroft. 

“Oh stop, all this warm and fuzzy feelings coming from you is making me blush Sherlock.” Mycroft’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. 

“Physical impossibility,” it was spoken in the same tone as he usually used for proclaiming boredom. “You do, I presume, have bagged blood on the premises?”

“Tedious, why are you asking questions you already know the answer to? Of course I have bagged blood here, you and I are not the only vampires under my care, I don’t fancy my people starving.” A slight edge had crawled into Mycroft’s voice.

“Great,” John interrupted, not wanting to sit through a new argument between the two vampires. “Then Sherlock can eat and then rest.” He gave his friend a pointed look.

“Yes, I did agree before John. I don’t go back on my word.” Not once he’d given his word to John in any case.

“I know you don’t.” John’s voice was soft. “I just like reminding you, make sure you are taken care of since you utterly suck at taking care of yourself…Pun not intended.” 

“Well then it is a good thing I have you to keep me from abusing myself.” He practically floated off the chair. “Send a bag up to my room if you please dear brother.”

“Why certainly precious baby brother, it shall be as you say.” Mycroft simpered. “The blood will be there but next time you know where the fridge is, get it yourself, my people have better things to do than wait on you.” He turned to John. “May I offer you a guestroom John or do you wish to leave?”

John didn’t hesitate. “I would very much appreciate the use of a guestroom right now Mycroft, at least until we have a plan of action sorted out.”

Sherlock gave Mycroft a single, warning look, “Near mine. I don’t trust your minions.” Nor did he trust Mycroft not to try and ‘test’ John’s hunter abilities while he had the opportunity.

“Well then, you have a suit Sherlock and the sofa turns into a bed in the sitting room so why don’t you have him staying with you.” Mycroft replied, only slightly annoyed at his brother’s perceptiveness. He had entertained the thought of maybe a fight that would ‘accidentally’ happen so he could measure some of John’s skills. He should have known better.

It occurred to Sherlock that it might be ‘not good’ for him to just accept without consulting his friend, “Is that alright with you John?” 

John was surprised that Sherlock even asked him but he sent his friend a smile. "Of course, we're flatmates aren't we? I'm already used to your bad habits." In fact John was relieved. It was nice rooming with Sherlock since they were right in the lion's den so to speak. 

“Then we’re done in here for the time being. Do enjoy your day brother,” he gave Mycroft a short, close-lipped smile and swept out of the office, heading for his guest suite.

"Right, well I'd better follow then before I get lost." John gave Mycroft a nod and trotted after Sherlock as usual.

Mycroft watched them leave the office and leaned back in his chair. Dr. Watson was certainly a man of surprises; he was glad Sherlock had him though and that he wouldn't have to pretend being dead with him at least.

~oOo~

As soon as he was inside the suite, Sherlock stripped his coat off and flung it over a chair before beginning to pace, his fingers wiggling and his lips moving silently as he thought. There were so many different threads, so many little possibilities and no hard data. It was making it very difficult to see clear to the heart of the problem. Hopefully ‘Anthea’ would agree to pop by Delphi and speak to the stone Oracles. She might not as the last he’d checked she still loathed the land of her birth.

Recognizing Sherlock's mood, John simply followed him inside the suite and walked over to sit down on the plush couch. He would be here if Sherlock needed someone to talk at or bounce ideas off of. Other than that he would stay quiet for now and let Sherlock think. 

“Why go to so much trouble? Just to discredit me? No there has to be another reason. Could have used a pawn to discredit me. No need to risk himself. So why? Protecting someone, lay a false trail? Who? Parents? Lover? Sibling? Child?” He snorted at that, “Not likely a child. Most with children shy away from harming other children, parental instincts being engaged.” As soon as John’s ass had touched the sofa he’d started speaking out loud as he always did.

John listened, knowing that was what Sherlock needed the most from him. Sherlock was right; Moriarty’s plan seemed ridiculously intricate and troublesome if its only purpose was to discredit him. Even if the plan had been to make Sherlock ‘kill’ himself it still felt a bit off. “I do agree that Moriarty could have tried to protect someone. Parents are doubtful though but one never knows I suppose. Perhaps Moriarty was the perfect devoted son.”

“Perhaps but as you said unlikely, Daddy issues.” Sherlock had noticed that. “Not a lover either, if I’m right and the scent in his skin was Moran’s, he’d feel no need to protect his best sniper. Too arrogant to think he himself could be vulnerable much less those he chose as his warriors. Most probably a sibling. He did get an inordinate amount of enjoyment out of Mycroft’s supposed willingness to throw me under the bus.” He brought his hands up, tapping his lips with his index fingers. “And then there’s Moran. He must know he’s nothing but a tool or a toy to Moriarty, why remain so loyal, just because they may be sleeping together?” He shook his head, “No, army colonel, he’d be more practical than that. Wouldn’t risk his life over something so fleeting as sex and he wouldn’t believe that Moriarty loved him, not unless there was more on the table.”

“Army colonel turned mercenary, I really doubt that Moran would let something as fickle as love control him. There must be something else, something much more important or valuable to insure his loyalties.” John figured he could sympathize with Moran a little. Who knows, in another life he might have ended up just like the ex-colonel. If he hadn’t met Sherlock or eaten his gun he could have ended up the same way, trying to find somewhere where he still had a purpose.

“Yes but what?” He turned to pace some more then looked at the door a second before there was a knock. “Oh make them go away will you John?”

“So charming, it will be your blood that and you will eat it...Or drink, whatever.” John still rose from the couch and walked to open the door.

“Ah hello sir,” the servant at the door seemed a bit discomfited by the door being opened by John but covered it admirably, “I’ve two pints here for Mr. Holmes and the master requested a human meal sent as well, steak and potatoes.” The servant nudged the cart he’d brought forward, “If you will just leave the cart and dishes outside the door when you’re done someone will come get it.”

“Thank you, it was very kind of you to bring the food here.” John pushed down the urge to chuckle; he wondered just how quickly the news about his hunter status had spread. It was either that or the poor sod just didn’t like John’s face, that could be it too. Either way John found it more amusing than he probably should. 

“It’s my job. Good evening.” The servant left John with the cart and glided down the hall.

Sherlock snorted, “Morons. Mycroft wouldn’t have told him your true status, even if he’d wanted a test,” the word was sneered out, “he’d have simply ordered one of his minions to attack you. No the moron simply has a distaste for mingling with humans.”

“Ah, don’t like socializing with the food then.” It didn’t really bother John, let the git live in his little bubble of superiority. If push came to shove, John knew he could take that scrawny little vamp. He walked over and handed Sherlock the blood. “Eat.”

He took the bag, twisted off the end of the tube attached to it and just began drinking the blood through it like a straw absently, letting automatic function take over as he continued to pace and think.

Taking his own plate of food, John moved back to the couch to eat. The steak and potatoes were delicious of course; John hadn’t expected anything else since it came from Mycroft’s kitchen. The git was a creature of comfort and demanded the best of everything. “Back to Moriarty though,” John spoke between bites. “My guess is sibling if there’s anyone he’s protecting. Could be completely wrong of course...Moriarty’s mind is a place I don’t even want to try and understand, it must be terrifying in there.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock pinched off the tube so he could answer, “Or cluttered. Very likely both. The question is how to find this proposed sibling. During the bombing case we searched tirelessly but never found a hint of connection between Moriarty and the others. Certainly nothing to connect him to Carl Powers who he claimed l-” he broke off, eyes flicked back anf forth quickly as if he was mentally rearranging files, “what if it wasn’t Moriarty Carl Powers laughed at? What if it was this sibling?” He started to gain that excited look in his eyes.

“Oooh, Moriarty only said he put a stop to Power’s teasing, he didn’t say anything about him being the one who was teased. Clever Sherlock, very clever indeed. If we find the one Carl Powers teased then we probably have the sibling...Or at least the person Moriarty is protecting.” John waved his fork in the air excitedly as he spoke.

“Indeed,” he considered just tossing the blood bag away, his nose fairly twitching at the new metaphorical scent but he’d get that _look_ from John if he did, and it might very well be followed up by another punch, this one designed to knock him out. So instead he began drinking again, the blood, as usual, unappetizing and bland. It was always bland and unappetizing. He’d never really enjoyed drinking blood; it just didn’t taste particularly delicious. Certainly not ‘ambrosia’ as he’d heard so many other vampires describe it. It was why it was so easy for him to ignore the scent. Though he would admit that John’s blood actually smelled different enough that he was curious. He’d never find out how John tasted, he was aware of that, but he was curious.

He drained the bag and tossed it on the tray. “I’m going to shower,” he grabbed a green dressing gown from a wardrobe, “feel free to poke around and find something you’ll be able to sleep in.”

“Ta.” John blinked a little at the abrupt departure of Sherlock to the bathroom, he should be used to Sherlock’s moods but it seemed the man could still surprise him. He finished his meal and got up to walk to the bedroom in search of some night clothes that would fit him. Not only was Sherlock a tall bastard but he was thin as a weed as well. The bedroom smelled like Sherlock and John found himself standing still and just taking the scent in before he caught himself and went back to look for clothes. Eventually he found a pair of sweatpants that looked as if they could fit and he figured he could wear his own t-shirt the one he wore under his jumper and shirt. Since Sherlock was in the bathroom, John made use of that time to change. It felt strange wearing Sherlock’s trousers...As if part of Sherlock was caressing him. Oh those were dangerous thoughts indeed; he could already feel his body’s reaction to them.

In the shower Sherlock made quick work of cleaning himself, shampooing his hair, then putting thick, rich conditioner into the riotous curls. He’d learned the hard way that if he didn’t condition his hair and use a leave in conditioner once out of the shower, his hair had a tendency to frizz so badly that it looked more like an afro than curls. It was embarrassing on a crime scene honestly. While waiting for the conditioner to soak in, he leaned against the wall and pondered. Mostly the Moriarty situation but then it worked its way around to John and his hunter genetics. He thought of how much faster John might be when not holding back, how much stronger, a man who could already toss him back into bed like a rag doll, and it made him shiver just a bit at the thought of being properly manhandled by John.

He wrenched himself away from those thoughts before they grew detailed. It would not do to walk out of the bathroom with an erection. He rinsed the conditioner out of his hair and set about drying off and combing in the leave in. The he wrapped himself in the dressing gown and strode out into the main room. 

John was also back in the main room, curled into a corner of the couch and flipping through the channels of the large flat screen TV mounted on the wall. He was glad he could pretend to watch TV as Sherlock stepped out because really...A freshly showered, damp Sherlock clad in only that sinful silky dressing gown...It was wrecking havoc with his hormones. All he wanted to do was stalk over there, press Sherlock against a wall and just take him. Since that wasn’t an option he pretended to be interested in Top Gear, finding out what car was quickest.

Sherlock just sat down in the opposite corner, pulling a laptop from off the coffee table and turning it on to perform a search on the fellow classmates of Carl Powers, “You’ll probably have to question the ones who would have known or noticed the people Carl might not have been quite so nice to. It’s not as though I can do so.”

“No, I suppose you can’t right now. You’ll have to train me in deduction then, tell me what to ask them.” John smiled but he felt a little sad for all the people who still believed that Sherlock was dead and gone. It had to be so hard for Sherlock as well. “About Greg, he doesn’t know does he? I find it difficult to have faith in his and Mycroft’s relationship with all these secrets”. 

“You won’t need to deduce anything about them. You’re really very hard to lie to actually and people trust that fluffy, uncomplicated exterior of yours, you’ll only need to ask, maybe push a bit, about Carl and who might have had reason to harm him.” His fingers flew over the keys expertly. “And no, Lestrade doesn’t know, because he’s a terrible actor.”

“Hmm, poor Greg.” John felt for the other man and he hoped everything wouldn’t crash and burn once all the secrets came out in the open, Greg deserved better than that. “So I’m hard to lie to am I?” A slow grin spread over his features. “Remember that the next time you feel the urge to do so.”

“Yes very hard to lie to. To date only Mycroft has managed particularly well. I think I’ve only managed to successfully lie to you...twice. Omitting information isn’t the same as a lie,” he made a thinking noise and added another pair of people to search.

“Mycroft makes his living out of lies and schemes so I don’t actually feel all that bad about him being able to lie to me. Also omitting things are just as bad; don’t kid yourself into thinking differently.” John knew he wouldn’t be able to change Sherlock and in fact he didn’t really want to, he loved the git the way he was but he could poke a little, it was almost expected to do so. 

Now they were testing motorbikes on the motor show on telly and John felt a wave of nostalgia. “I used to ride a motorcycle, back in med-school when I was young and angry at the world.”

Sherlock looked up and over at John, “You rode a motorbike?” Why could he see that so clearly in his head, and why was it so bloody arousing?

“Yeah I did. It was back when I just had chosen medicine over the family business. I lived in a closet of a flat and didn’t have the space or money for a car. A motorcycle took me where I wanted to go and I loved the feeling of it. It was like riding freedom.” John became lost in memories. He’d sold the bike once he joined the army but he still missed it at times.

The only good thing about sluggish bloodflow, in Sherlock’s mind at the moment, was the fact that it would prevent him from getting an instant, painful erection. Good God the look on John’s face, it was somewhere between sheer delight and peace, give him mussed hair and rumpled clothes and he’d look like he’d just had the best shag of his life. And Sherlock needed to stop thinking about it before he got his blood flowing faster.

“Perhaps we can annoy Mycroft to let you borrow one of the motorbikes in the garage to go question Powers’ schoolmates. He keeps a dozen or so for his minions to run errands.”

John’s eyes lit up at that and he leaned forward toward Sherlock in eagerness. “Really? That’d be amazing.” He had to shake his head at keeping a dozen or so motorbikes, the Master vampire’s life was well and truly different from his own. 

Sherlock was beginning to wonder if John wasn’t just trying to kill him with those expressions. It’d be a unique way of expiring a vampire certainly. He wanted to kiss that little quirk of John’s lips, to make his eyes haze over in arousal until John had enough of teasing and took control. He returned his attention to the computer, “I’ll pester him in the morning about it then.”

“Thank you...Really Sherlock, thank you so much. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even be able to ride a bike any longer. I would still have my limp if not for you.” John meant it. Sherlock had saved him in every way possible. Given him a reason to live and love and gods how he loved him. 

He didn’t reply, out of fear that he’d make the same absolutely humiliating babbling sound he had when he’d dealt with Adler and that would give away how he felt just as surely as if he broke into song and dance like some insipid cartoon character. He was still embarrassed that he’d tripped into that succubus’ web so deeply. Especially as she’d been working with Moriarty. “Oh!”

“What’s that oh for? It’s your brilliant idea expression. You’ve figured something out.” Without thinking about it, John leaned even closer toward Sherlock, taking even the slightest change in expression with the other man. It was always a treat, getting to watch that brilliant mind at work.

“The Woman,” Sherlock’s lips curved up in his clever smirk, “She worked with Moriarty, she’d know more about him than we do.” he turned his head and blinked at finding John closer than before, the shrunken space actually making his brain stutter just a bit.

John couldn’t help the face he made at the mentioning of The Woman. He couldn’t stand her and he knew that it had all to do with jealousy. She’d managed to catch Sherlock’s attention, intrigued the detective in a way not even John had managed to do. He’d figured out that Irene Adler wasn’t dead but he’d hoped never to have to deal with her again. “You know where she is then?”

He snapped himself out of the stutter and moved the laptop back onto the table, getting up to roam around, not particularly thinking about just being in the dressing gown, “Of course I do. Never a good idea to lose track of a succubus who’s developed a taste for you.”

“I guess, it’s a problem I’ve never had so I couldn’t tell. You should contact her then, any information we can possibly get from any source is useful...The slippery little eel must have made a mistake somewhere, there has to be some way to get to him and we’ll find it.” John realized just how close he had leaned and moved back to his corner with an embarrassed little huff of breath.

“Of course you’ve never had that problem; no succubus worth her salt would go near a genetic hunter’s energy. It’s poisonous to them.” It was spoken off-handedly though he did narrow his eyes and make a discontented growl as Adler’s comment about him sleeping with danger in his house took on an entirely different meaning. Oh he should have just let them behead her. “If I contact her you are coming with me. I hardly need her trying to take a sip again.”

“You know it, where you go, I go.” It was a simple statement but John meant every word. Also learning that he was poisonous to Adler made him feel better. It was irrational, John knew that it was irrational but he was still jealous of Irene. She’d had the guts to go after what she wanted; John was doomed to love in silence.

Sherlock made a content sound before a jaw cracking yawn interrupted his pacing. He’d been running non-stop since the arrest and his body was making its complaints about it known.

“Have you even slept since you jumped?” John looked worried. “Please go rest. I’ll talk to Carl Power’s class mates tomorrow and then we can take things from there. Nothing else we can do tonight.”

“I can narrow down the best ones to talk t-” the glare John narrowed at him would have given Mycroft pause. “Oh very well.” It wasn’t actually that he didn’t want to sleep. He did, in fact, enjoy sleeping when he needed it. Usually that was. However he had a feeling he’d dream this time and not of anything pleasant. He put on a pout and headed for the bedroom, “Remember that the sofa converts to a bed and use it as such. Otherwise your shoulder will complain and you’re impossible when it does.”

John’s lips twitched. “Oh yes, I am definitely the impossible one out of the two of us. I promise I will pull out the couch into a bed, I promise. I’m going to get some sleep as well.” Rest hadn’t come easily from the time Sherlock had jumped to John being able to confront him. He hoped that the knowledge that Sherlock was in the other room and that he now knew John’s secret would help him actually get some sleep.

_**To be continued…** _


	3. Part Three

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter some angst and our boys misunderstanding each other. Silly, silly boys._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Three._ **

Sherlock was surprised that he’d gotten even four hours before he found himself jerking upright in his bed out of a nightmare involving John sprawled in the middle of the street, head open and brain leaking out of the hole onto the asphalt from a sniper’s bullet. He hadn’t screamed, he had better control of his nightmares than to scream, but he was gasping for air, the sheets around him shredded from his claws having come out as he thrashed around in distress and denial of the dream, and his body was cold from the sweat drying in the air being circulated by the lazy overhead fan.

John hesitated outside Sherlock’s bedroom before he knocked and cracked the door open. He knew Sherlock wasn’t sleeping anymore, he’d heard him tossing and turning and then the ripping sound of fabric being torn apart. John needed to make sure Sherlock was alright, he knew the paralyzing power of bad dreams all too well. “You alright Sherlock? Can I get you anything?”

Sherlock jerked and looked at the door, pale eyes almost glowing as he took in John’s face filling the crack in it and, not even thinking about the fact that he’d opted to sleep naked, he was up out of the bed and at the door in a moment, hands going to John’s head, fingers sifting through short, smooth hair, making sure the skull was intact, that it had, indeed, been just a nightmare. It was instinct, left over from childhood, to make sure the monsters under the bed weren’t really there.

Blue eyes widened almost comically at having a naked Sherlock practically pressed up against him. Once he got his head wrapped around that he noticed the shadows of terror in Sherlock’s eyes and he understood. Pushing away the thoughts of Sherlock...naked...naked Sherlock out of his head as best he could, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s slender torso and held him close. “It’s okay, just a dream. I’m here...head hard as rock, that’s me.”

Warmth. That’s what John was. Warmth wrapping around him. Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned against the shorter, broader body, soaking in that warmth, the funny scent of baking sweets, tea, steel, and antiseptic that John carried, and the sound of his heartbeat and breathing. Only a nightmare. It had been only a nightmare, though one that could still come true.

John let the taller man lean against him as he continued to hold him, running soothing hands up and down Sherlock’s back. Feeling the knobby spine underneath his fingertips. “Only a dream.” He repeated softly.

He rested his cheek against the top of John’s head and let out a long sigh, the tension leaving his body. “I disturbed your rest.” It was deduction and vague apology.

“Nah, wasn’t sleeping so no worries.” It felt good holding Sherlock like this; it felt right, like the other man fit in his arms. John had to be careful to stay the comforting mate and not turn the embrace into what he really wished for.

“Hm,” a few more moments and then Sherlock’s brain reminded him that he was utterly naked. Naked. And in John’s arms. Perhaps not the way he’d like to be but he was naked and in John’s arms and why did his mind insist on delving into the sexual implications so much since John had clocked him? He stepped back, out of the embrace, and quickly went to grab his dressing gown, “It’s been four hours. You’ve not slept?” He didn’t mention his nakedness, certainly not to apologize for it, as even he knew it was at best an awkward thing.

John shook his head. “I suppose I wasn’t very tired after all, it’s all good though, I found a book out there in one of the bookcases. I didn’t know you read fiction, or are they Mycroft’s books?” John was certainly not going to mention the naked thing if Sherlock didn’t, in fact the sooner he could get the image of Sherlock, tall, pale, naked and utterly gorgeous out of his mind the better. 

“Mycroft’s opinion of enjoyable guest reading material. I occasionally read fiction depending on how well written the world and circumstances are.” He knotted the belt, closing the dressing gown then turned to face John again. “I don’t, technically, have a room here. This is Mycroft’s house, I don’t exactly visit my brother often enough to require a room of my own set aside.”

“No, I suppose you don’t. Your home is still at Baker Street though, once this mess is taken care of it will be there waiting for you along with all your things. The only thing I’ve gotten rid of are the fingers...they were turning green.” John gave him a small smile. “I think Skully is missing you, he’s been looking a little forlorn on the mantelpiece lately.”

Sherlock just looked at John before starting to laugh, giggle really, the same way he and John tended to do in ridiculous situations.

John joined in, a mixture of chuckles and giggles escaping him. He loved Sherlock’s laugh, the deep rumblings...John felt them echo through him, right into his heart. 

It took several minutes for them to stop, one just fed off the other’s giggles and every time they’d look at each other it would start over again. It eased the tension further and gave them a release from the past several days of turmoil. Sherlock could honestly say that he had needed this, badly.

Tension John hadn’t known he was carrying seeped out of his joints, leaving John happy and relaxed, his body feeling languid, almost as it did after a really brilliant shag. He would not go there though, stupid brain who seemed to be stuck on one track these days. “Right, so is there any chance of being able to make a cuppa here in the suite. I think we could both do with a spot of tea.”

“No but we can go down to the kitchen,” Sherlock was still smiling, feeling quite a bit lighter. “And discuss Carl’s schoolmates.”

“Let’s do that then.” John couldn’t stop grinning; he had his best friend there smiling back at him. It made him happy and content. “Will I be forced to endure more elitist vampires there?”

“If any are there I doubt they’ll stay long. I am not popular amongst that particular faction.”

“No, unlike them you have a brain and use it too.” John didn’t care that they were vampires; he loathed all elitist creatures equally. People who thought they were better than others always had it so very wrong. If they poked him though, then he would poke back, a guest in Mycroft’s house or not. 

“Indeed. I’ll be out in a moment. I dislike being around Mycroft’s minions in my dressing gown,” he went to the closet in the room to pluck out one of the suits Mycroft had arranged for him.

John hummed and looked down at his own borrowed sleeping trousers, noticing the way they covered his feet and pooled onto the floor. He looked like a child dressing up in grown-up clothes. It was not exactly as he would make a strong figure wearing these trousers. He shimmied out of them and reached for his denims instead.

It didn’t take Sherlock long to change, really he was so used to wearing suits that it took him half the time of someone like John, who preferred casual wear, to get into one. It helped that he loathed ties and anything else that bound around his throat. No need to fuss with an irritating strip of silk if you never wore one. He shrugged into the suit jacket and straightened the lapels before walking out into the main room of the suite. “We’re more likely to wind up dealing with Hettie, she’s been Mycroft’s housekeeper, cook, and nanny since the start of eternity.”

John was in the middle of buttoning up his denims, keeping just the t-shirt on and leaving his feet bare, Mycroft’s floor were carpeted so he wouldn’t be cold. “Nanny...Gods she must either be a saint or a demon, taking care of Mycroft like that. How about you? Was she your nanny as well or did you have one of your own?” 

He snorted, “Nannies didn’t particularly last long with me,” he ignored the fact that John had been in the middle of doing up his fly with a herculean effort, “Especially once I began talking. Before that I simply bit them, as such is expected with vampire children it made it very difficult to shoo them away quickly, one even lasted two weeks. Once I was able to verbalize my thoughts however, the longest any lasted was seventy four hours twelve minutes.”

John snorted. “Must have had an iron will that one, for staying a little more than three days. I know what you are like when you put your mind to it and I can only imagine you were even worse as a child.” He finished doing up his trousers and was ready to leave for the kitchen. “I don’t think you needed a nanny in that sense though...You should have had someone who challenged you, stood up to you and let you use your mind.” 

“Such a creature didn’t exist then I don’t believe,” Sherlock opened the door and started down the hallway, “Anyone who cared for a child professionally tended toward the more cowish mental acuity.”

That made John a little sad, he understood that times were different back then but it still made him sad. “Some things do get better with time then.” Time, it reminded John that he was growing older by the day while Sherlock would remain beautiful, strong and young. One day he would be forced to leave Sherlock no matter how he hated that thought.

“Perhaps so,” he lead John through the house to the kitchen pausing to listen to who was inside, nodding, “Just Hettie.”

“I’ll don my best behavior then.” John nodded before he and Sherlock stepped into the kitchen.

“Little master Sherlock, what brings you to my domain at this hour?” A happy voice called out and a woman who looked middle-aged looked up from where she looked as if she was baking something. Her cheeks were rounded and unusually red for being a vampire. In John’s eyes she looked like a Mum.

“Tea, and discussing interrogations to come.” His voice held a fond note as he went over to brush a kiss against her cheek. He’d always liked Hettie, she’d have been a nanny he wouldn’t have chased off if Mycroft hadn’t already hired her as his housekeeper by the time Sherlock was born and Hettie would never leave Mycroft. “You’re looking well.”

“I am well, you know Thomas, he would never let anything happen to me.” She smiled and pat Sherlock’s hand with a flour covered hand before looking at John. “You must be Dr. Watson, I’ve heard so much about you from my little masters.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you.” John reached out to shake her hand, surprised by the strong, steady and very human thump of her heart at her wrist. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure. Sit down and have your little interrogations chat and I’ll bring both of you a nice cuppa in a moment.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock nudged John toward the table and explained, “Hettie is the mate of one of my mother’s former enforcers. She’s completely human, though if she asked I’m certain Thomas would change her.”

Apparently there were things about vampire society he still didn’t know. John was baffled. “I didn’t know it worked that way, that a mate could stay human.” He glanced over at the happy, humming woman who had moved to fiddle with the kettle.

“Most don’t because the majority of mates choose to be changed. The reversion to peak physical health, better senses, strength and speed, and accelerated healing are an advantage few choose to forgo. And, a few centuries ago, most vampires didn’t listen if their mates didn’t wish to be changed. It was, in their minds, for their mates’ own protection. Hettie is one of only two I know of whose mate listened to her wishes regarding the change.”

John listened in fascination. “He must really love her, by choosing to stay human she is much more vulnerable and in turn he becomes more vulnerable as well. That’s love.” He glanced over at Hettie again for a short moment, wondering just how it was, being the human mate of a vampire, living for centuries but staying human. It must take strength to do that.

“He does. It fascinated me when I was younger. Why would anyone willingly make themselves so vulnerable? What was the possible advantage to it? Thomas never answered my questions about that, not properly. He simply told me that I would understand one day, stubborn old bleeder.” It was spoken with a rare fondness.

“And do you? Understand it now?” John couldn’t help but ask, resting his elbows on the table and leaning his chin on his folded hands. 

Before he could get an answer Hettie came over with a tray loaded with a flower printed teapot, matching tea cups, sugar, lemon slices, milk and biscuits. “Here you are lovelies, just holler if you need anything else.”

“Of course. Thank you, Hettie.” Once she’d gone back to her tasks he answered John, “I understand more of it now. Mates are not destined things like the asinine romance novels like to paint them, impossible to walk away from. It is very possible for either a vampire or a human to walk away from the mating bond. So each one that doesn’t is...” he searched for the proper word as he doctored his tea.

“Remarkable.” John had no idea if that was the word Sherlock was looking for but that was what it was to him, absolutely remarkable. “I’ve never found those romance novels very appealing. If you mate with someone and then are just stuck with them...What’s the point? A love that you yourself choose, something you fight for and build and make stronger. That is something remarkable to me. That’s the love I want in my life, something I would fight to the bitter end for.”

It hurt. Hearing John talk about the kind of love he wanted, apparently the kind of love he looked for with his girlfriends, hurt because it was obvious that John would never look for love with him. If he wanted love he’d fight for with Sherlock, he’d already be fighting for it wouldn’t he? Sherlock didn’t let the sting of that knowledge show on his face though, choosing to hum in acknowledgement, “Hettie chose not to walk away so Thomas respects her wishes to remain human because he treasures that, treasures her. That is my understanding on the matter at least.”

John nodded. "I believe you are entirely correct in your understanding." John had watched Sherlock closely as he spoke about love, looking for something, some kind of sign that it wasn't hopeless but Sherlock had shown him nothing. He knew love wasn't Sherlock’s area, he knew he was married to his work but that didn't stop him from wanting Sherlock, from loving him. It was painful, knowing that his love would never be returned.

“Of course I am,” Sherlock sipped at his tea, “About Powers’ schoolmates, you’ll likely have more success speaking to the ‘geeks’ of the class. They notice more and won’t be as likely as an old friend to protect the memory of a dead boy. Of course you should still speak to his closest friends but ask them if there was anyone who might have had cause to harm Carl someone who might have seen ‘harmless fun’ as something less than fun. The ‘geeks’ you can take a less tactful approach and simply ask if Carl ever teased or bullied anyone.”

“I figured I would take that approach yes. I think it’s fairly safe to assume that Carl Powers did tease and bully, people in his position often do. No matter what kind of jerk he was though, he was still a kid and he didn’t deserve being killed. In time he might have changed into a better person.” John abhorred bullies, those who preyed on people weaker than them only to make themselves feel better. It was loathsome behavior and he had to remind himself that people could change and that if one killed them they would never have a chance to change.

“Perhaps. Many do I’ve been told..” Sherlock wasn’t particularly fond of believing in people’s ability to change. He’d seen a bit too much of people offered a change only for them to remain exactly as they were. No one really wanted to change, change was awkward and painful, he could speak from experience on that score, and everyone wanted to avoid pain and discomfort. 

“And many does not. Who knows, Carl Powers could have stayed a hateful bastard but his choice was taken away from him along with his life and that’s not okay.” John sighed. “This might sound bad but I can’t say that I really care about what happened to Carl Powers, I only hope that talking to his classmates will lead us to whatever or whomever Moriarty is hiding.” He took a sip of his tea, finding it brewed and steeped to perfection, this really was quality tea.

“Work Irish into the conversation. Irish accent, Irish name when he had no intention of letting us go at the pool,” his eyes darkened in memory of that. He’d have survived the bomb and the snipers but John wouldn’t have and it still infuriated him that Moriarty had put his hands on _his_ John, “and he retained the accent up on the roof, no need to do that if he believed his audience was going to die so he is, very likely, Irish.”

“I’ve always had a soft spot for Ireland and the Irish, figures Moriarty should find a way to ruin that for me as well...Ah well, one bad egg doesn’t ruin the whole basket I suppose.” John stretched a little in the kitchen chair, hearing and feeling his shoulder pop as he rolled it. “Got my first kiss from an Irish person. His hair was the reddest I’ve ever seen in a person and he had freckles absolutely everywhere.” He smiled fondly at the memory; he had only been twelve and the kiss as chaste as could be. He would always remember it though because it had been his first.

“His?” Sherlock’s head lifted, question flitting over his features.

“Yup, his. His name was Kieran.” John looked at his best friend. “I did tell you that first dinner at Angelos that it was _all_ fine.”

He tilted his head, “Then why just girlfriends?” Why had John only dated women since they’d met if he was attracted to both genders? It was curious.

Because the only man he wanted didn’t want him back. John couldn’t say that though so he shrugged instead. “They were safe, I didn’t look for something serious and neither did they.”

Then why had John always gotten so angry when he’d eventually driven off the other man’s dates? His friend was giving him conflicting data and Sherlock did not particularly like it. Data was what he had, how he made sense of everything, if he was given conflicting data, how was he supposed to make sense of what it pertained to? Now wasn’t the time to explore this however. He’d do so at a point in the future. “Hmm. Back to business, you might need a less...” he paused and prodded at his mind for the right word but there really weren’t any aside from one, “a less _John_ outfit, for lack of a better word, when you go to question them. In case they might be reminded of who you are and refuse to speak with you.”

John gasped in mock offense. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with my jumpers?” He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling a bit naked in his thin t-shirt. “I wasn’t planning on wearing a jumper if you managed to talk Mycroft into letting me borrow a bike. And you’d be surprised by how few people remembers me or even know who I am. The sidekicks are never very memorable.” He finished his tea. “Oh remind me that I have to call Mrs. Hudson when morning comes, she worries if I don’t come home at night.”

“Only a fool would forget you. Then again the world is full of fools.” He studied John in honest curiosity, the man was his guide in behaving ‘normally’ after all, “Was there something offensive in how I said to dress differently?”

“No, nothing offensive. I understand what you meant. People often have a problem with my fashion sense though and that only makes me more stubborn when it comes to wearing them. It started as kind of a disguise, if I dressed like that then people weren’t worried about me, didn’t consider me dangerous...Somewhere along the line I learned to actually like my jumpers and cardigans though.”

“They suit you,” Sherlock’s tone was matter of fact, “Aside from the Christmas jumper, that one was hideous. It’s a very John sort of look, comfortable and deceptively simple.” He’d tried to learn both knitting and crocheting once, in an attempt to stamp out boredom, and come to the conclusion that knitwear was far more complicated than it appeared because it was ridiculous how bad he’d been at it.

“Yeah, the Christmas jumper was hideous, I can own up to that but it was a gift from Mrs. Hudson and since you refused to wear the antlers I had to wear the jumper. I didn’t want to make her sad on Christmas.” John grinned at Sherlock.

He chuckled, “Better you than I for that.” 

“I don’t know, I think you would have looked rather fetching wearing reindeer antlers, though Greg might have expired from shock if he’d seen you wearing them.” Even though John knew Sherlock was alive and well he’d missed this, missed just spending time and talking to Sherlock. John knew he couldn’t live without the other man in his life, that was why he was so terrified about letting his feelings show. He couldn’t stand the pity Sherlock would give him as he pulled away from John. Better to have this, to be friends than not have him at all.

“Then it’s best I didn’t. If he’d expired I wouldn’t have the joy of watching my brother fumbling about like a common swain.” He exchanged a smirk with John. 

“Mm, it would certainly be a shame to have missed out on that entertainment.” John’s tone of voice was dry but his smirk stayed in place. 

He made a hum of agreement before he was smacked in the back of the head with something soft. He turned to look at the roll that was now on the floor then looked up at a frowning Hettie.

“You shouldn’t talk that way about your brother. Him finding a mate after all those centuries living alone. It’s something sacred, not funny.” Hettie had her hands on her hips, more than prepared to throw another roll at Sherlock unless he behaved.

He cleared his throat, “I’d be less amused if he were less overbearing involving my own love life.” He’d been dealing with Mycroft’s sly innuendos and comments about John since the cabbie. Personally he felt he was entitled to get a little amusement out of Mycroft fumbling about.

“Yes well, you know the solution to that don’t you? Just get your foot out of your bum and act on it already.” Hettie had taken one look at Sherlock and his doctor and that was enough to know that they were meant for each other. Everyone could see it except for the pair of them it seemed. 

John had to swallow down the sharp stab of jealousy as Sherlock spoke about his love life. What love life? Was there someone out there who Sherlock wanted? Whom he loved? Christ even the mere thought that it could be so...It hurt.

“Et tu Hettie?” He’d told Mycroft, and he would tell Hettie once John was no longer present, that he would not risk his friendship with John when his flatmate was so obviously not interested in him. He’d been on the verge of committing suicide before John had come into his life and if he were to drive the other man away then he would be right back in that position. Losing John was not a risk he was willing to take.

“Yes me too Sherlock.” She traded a knowing look with the vampire but let the subject drop for now. “Now it is very late or very early depending on how you look at it. Get out of my kitchen and get some rest before you fall asleep standing up. The shadows under your doctor’s eyes are so bad they look like bruises.”

“Oi.” John startled. “They can’t be that bad. I’m okay, promise.”

“You do need rest however John. You’ve not slept yet today and you need to be rested so you don’t miss anything when interviewing Powers’ schoolmates.”

“Fine.” John gave up, he couldn’t let the Work suffer because he was tired, not when Sherlock had trusted him with the interviewing. It was probably pathetic of him but the last thing John wanted to do was disappoint Sherlock. “I’ll rest for a few hours if you rest with me.”

A dark brow lifted in slight confusion, “Clarify that?”

“What’s to clarify? You and me resting...that sofa-bed is large as a lake. We can both fit easily in it. That way I can rest and still keep an eye on you and make sure you rest as well.” John thought he was very clear and made perfect sense, he did not understand Sherlock’s confusion.

Well it wasn’t as if they’d not shared a bed before. There had been that time in Devon during a case and the bed had been much smaller and they’d wound up pressed back to back and Sherlock hadn’t slept a jot, too concerned that he would roll over in his sleep and pull John against him like a teddy bear. He had a tendency to cling to things in his sleep. Still he kicked himself for thinking John might, just might, have meant something more. He blamed it on Hettie. “I’ve already slept four hours,” which was actually more than he got on a normal basis.

“I know.” John looked up and locked his gaze with Sherlock, it seemed he would have to show his hand a little here, have to admit to something he’d rather have kept a secret. “Please Sherlock...It’s silly I know but I can’t seem to sleep without you there.” John hadn’t slept more than half an hour here, twenty minutes there since Sherlock had left. It was beginning to take its toll on him now.

He blinked, understanding clearing his eyes, “Ah. I’ll sit with you then.”

John closed his eyes for a moment before looking up again. “Could you...could you just lie with me until I fall asleep? I won’t force you to rest...just please.” John didn’t like to beg, not even when it came to Sherlock but he needed this, needed sleep and for some reason he needed Sherlock there to achieve it.

Sherlock was aware of Hettie slipping out as he grew confused again. What was the difference between sitting with John on the bed and lying there? “I don’t understand. Why do you need me to lie down? Is there a measurable difference in the quality of your rest depending on whether I sit or lay down with you?”

Fuck! He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut. Now he had made Sherlock uncomfortable...Why didn’t he ever listen to himself when he told himself friendship was enough? Why did he keep wanting more? John’s ears turned red in embarrassment and he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “You know what, just forget it. It was stupid of me. I’ll go rest and I’ll see you later yeah?” He got up from his seat, just wanting to get away as quickly as he could.

“John,” Sherlock caught his arm, “I am not saying no, I simply want to understand because, I don’t understand the difference,” he studied his friend, reading the distress in John’s body language and trying to differentiate between what could be done differently for someone’s comfort while lying down as opposed to sitting next to them. He admittedly did not have much experience with that. Even as a child he’d not been given much in the way of comforting after nightmares or a bad scare. Mycroft hadn’t been there and his mother hadn’t been particularly maternal. The only time he could even recall someone being with him when he was under distress, aside from John sitting with him, was when he’d been going through withdrawals from the cocaine user blood under Lestrade’s watch and the human had held him through the shaking. Wait... “Do you need me to hold you?”

John looked down at the floor, hoping it would open up and swallow him whole. Couldn’t Sherlock understand how hard it had been for him to ask in the first place? John had always been on his own, independent and taking care of himself because no one else had done it for him. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it, it was silly to suggest it.” 

“But I will worry about it.” Actually he’d likely obsess over it, “Is that what you need? To be held I mean.” He was already getting twitchy and worried just standing there, trying to figure out how to help John, to do what he needed to help him rest. He wanted to help because it was John and as much as he did want to lay down with him, he didn’t want to do it the wrong way, “I just...do not want to make you uncomfortable doing something the wrong way.”

“You are making terribly uncomfortable right now Sherlock. I can’t explain it to you because I don’t understand it myself. All I know is that I can’t sleep, I can’t close my eyes without seeing you fall and in my head you don’t get up again. I shouldn’t have asked, it was too much to ask for. Please just delete it.” John heart was pounding and for some reason he felt completely raw and open, almost close to tears.

He’d never be able to delete it, he couldn’t delete anything about John, but he could pretend. “It’s only too much to ask if I’m not willing to do it. I am. I only wanted to know why the difference,” he softened his voice, the way he’d once heard Hettie do toward an injured kitten, “I always want to know the whys. I am sorry.” He released John’s arm and looked away, drawing in and hating himself for upsetting his friend, his ‘heart’ as Moriarty had so clearly seen, with his incessant need to know.

“No need to apologize, it’s who you are and I don’t wish you to be any different.” John was tired, so tired and he felt completely strung out. “I can’t explain why, I really can’t but will you please hold me until I can sleep.” John’s entire body was tense as a bowstring; he didn’t think he could handle Sherlock turning him down right now. He was much too frazzled, his emotions all over the place and he was too tired to keep them firmly under lock and key as he normally did.

Who he was. Yes it had always been who he was, hadn’t it. Forever ignoring the comfort of others because he simply _had to know_. John might say that he didn’t wish him to be different but Sherlock couldn’t say the same for himself. If any of the idiots who scorned him ever knew just how much he hated himself sometimes for his intellect and curiosity, they’d be utterly shocked. And he had tried to change, many times, and it never worked. But he could give this and stop asking questions, no matter that the not knowing would drive him spare, for John’s sake. He answered simply, with a nod, “Yes.”

“Thank you.” John was still tense and still very embarrassed but grateful too. Hesitantly he reached for Sherlock’s hand and started to walk out of the kitchen and toward Sherlock’s suite before he lost all of his courage. 

Sherlock curled his fingers around John’s and let him take the lead. Once inside the suite, he toed his shoes off and stripped off his suit jacket, pretending to ignore John changing his trousers. It was only leg and boxers showing after all and no matter how good John’s legs looked, Sherlock had seen them many times before, nothing to get exercised about. At least that’s what he told himself, despite wanting to get his hands on those legs and touch and caress them.

Christ this was awkward. John pulled Sherlock’s sleeping pants up his legs and secured them at his waist with the drawstring there. He hated himself for being so weak, for needing this when he knew Sherlock wasn’t big on touching. John knew he had put Sherlock on the spot with this, no matter what his friend told him. More than anything he wished he could have stopped himself from asking. He didn’t want to lose Sherlock that was his biggest fear but if he kept this up then Sherlock would pull away, John knew it. Once he’d changed he maneuvered Sherlock until he laid flat on his back on the bed. “I’m sorry for this Sherlock.” John felt the need to apologize as he laid down pressed to Sherlock’s side and placed his head on Sherlock’s chest, listening to the slow but steady heartbeat of his best friend. 

“Do not apologize,” Sherlock brought his arms around John, holding him as requested. “There is nothing to apologize for. Just go to sleep.” And after John went to sleep Sherlock could let himself drown in self-loathing for making the doctor feel like he had to apologize.

Closing his eyes, John wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s narrow waist, just to make sure he was really there before he let the beat of Sherlock’s heart lull him to sleep.

_**To be continued…** _


	4. Part Four

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter some more angst, John in bike leathers._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Four._ **

In the morning, Sherlock was still right there, holding John and staring up at the ceiling as he composed music in his head. Two hours ago he’d already finished planning out his meeting with The Woman to stave off hunger, his self-hatred, and boredom and now he was sinking back into the self-hatred and composing music to express it.

John woke up gradually, feeling warm, content and safe. It took him awhile to remember where he was and what had happened. Once it came back to him though he stiffened momentarily before forcing himself to relax. The morning after could be horrible and awkward or John could behave as normally as possible and do what he could to at least keep his friendship with the vampire that he loved. He stretched and pulled away gently, not going far though, just stretching out right next to Sherlock on the bed, also looking up at the ceiling. “Good morning.”

“Yes, good morning,” Sherlock wondered if it was safe to just leave the bed and go ask Mycroft about the motorbike right now or if that would make John think...not good things. Probably safer to remain where he was and assume his thinking pose as he added a violent arpeggio to his mental composition.

“You know I can feel your energy crackling all the way here.” John quirked his lips, baffled but thankful that Sherlock had stayed while he slept. He would have thought the vampire would leave just as soon as he was fast asleep. “You can go, I don’t mind and I know how you get after having been still for so long.” He rolled to his side so he could look at Sherlock. “Thank you for this, I slept like a log. Um...Is it okay if I borrow your shower?”

Sherlock was on his feet in an instant and waving toward the bathroom door, “Of course. Use whatever you’d like,” he was wiggling his feet into his shoes then opened the door, nodding when he saw the bag he’d expected. He brought it back into the room and threw it so it landed beside the sofa, “Mycroft had some of your clothes delivered and I believe you wanted to call Mrs. Hudson.”

“I did yes and I’ll do it right away. Tell Mycroft thank you for the clothes if you go to see him before I’m out of the shower.” Seeing the relief on Sherlock’s face as John had told him he could get up stung some, it really did but it was just another thing he would bury deep down. He’d slept uninterrupted for the first time in a long while but he would not ask for this again. Just once had been enough for something to shift between them and not in a good way. John was so sorry he had put Sherlock through it to begin with. All he could do now was to pretend it didn’t matter and go back to being Sherlock’s friend, just his friend. 

He reached over and dug through the pockets of his denims until he found his mobile. He tapped in Mrs. Hudson’s number, wanting to tell the landlady that he was safe and well and that she didn’t have to worry about him.

The genius hummed and went to a desk, pulling out paper and pencil to quickly scribble down the music streaming through his head. “Soon as I’m done with this I’ll be seeing him. I’ll bring back leathers and a helmet.” 

“Ta for that.” The thought that he might get to ride a bike made John perk up. He could really use that sense of freedom right now. Maybe that would help him put all other thoughts out of his mind. He finished his call with Mrs. Hudson, telling her he was staying with a friend for the time being and that she shouldn’t worry. Then he grabbed the bag with his clean clothes in it and headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. His shoulder was paying the price for him having been so tense earlier. It was stiff and aching this morning but hot water should help loosening it up.

“There’s a muscle rub in the medicine cabinet,” of course Sherlock had noticed the stiffness immediately even as he continued to scribble down notes.

John had to chuckle, it was just so Sherlock to notice everything even when he was clearly busy with something else. It was part of what made him so amazing. “Thank you for that information as well. I’m going to shower but I’ll see you later then.” He walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Sherlock twitched with irritation, not being sure if the note he heard in his head would translate into audible music correctly. He needed his violin to fully compose but that could wait. He finished laying down the notes and scratched out a title above them ‘Taedia’ before bursting into a flurry of movement once again, walking out and down the corridor to annoy Mycroft in the breakfast room.

Mycroft was sitting with the morning papers spread out on the table around him, sipping slowly at a cup of tea. He was still not hungry for anything other than Greg, it was quickly becoming a rather serious problem. At least he wasn’t as idiotic as Sherlock and his doctor though. Mycroft had watched them on his cameras last night and he had cringed from how stupid they both were. Both of them loved the other but they both got tangled up in misunderstandings and hurt. Really how someone as brilliant as Sherlock could be so utterly moronic when it came to love, Mycroft found it hard to understand. He looked up as Sherlock entered the breakfast room. “Good morning little brother.”

Sherlock stole the untouched cup of blood from Mycroft’s elbow and took a sip. He truly was hungry and that was dangerous. “Mycroft. How was your evening?” It was mindless chit chat, set up for a request and a routine they’d established centuries ago.

“Restful and nice, thank you for asking. I hope yours was the same.” Mycroft of course knew it had been nothing of the sort but Sherlock had a tendency to get so very upset when he learned that Mycroft watched him. Really he was only trying to look out for and care for his younger brother. Mycroft couldn’t see what the big deal was.

“Oh yes, wonderfully peaceful.” You could cut the insincerity with a knife. “John sends his regards for the clothes.”

“But of course, we couldn’t let him be uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes now could we?” Mycroft took another sip of tea. “I was only doing what any good host would do for their guest.”

“And it is so appreciated. I wonder if you could be imposed on a bit further.” Sherlock drank more deeply from the mug; he might have to stop by the kitchen for a pint bag.

“What kind of imposition are we talking about then?” Mycroft watched Sherlock devour his mug of blood and pressed the intercom button, asking the kitchen staff to bring another bag of blood up for his brother.

“John will be going out to interview some of Carl Powers’ schoolmates, see if any of them will remember someone who had cause to harm him or someone he bullied, do you mind too terribly if he borrows one of the motorbikes?”

“Is that all? Of course I don’t mind.” Mycroft waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “If he finds one he likes he can keep it, I have plenty of them after all.” 

Sherlock eyed his brother suspiciously for a moment before nodding, “Thank you. I’ll let him know.” He finished the cup of blood just as the blood Mycroft had ordered arrived. He took it with a considering look and once the staff member was well out of earshot he spoke again. “You should tell Lestrade before he finds out for himself. As amusing as I would no doubt find it if he were to shoot you, if he finds out on his own he may very well cut you off.” And as much as he and Mycroft annoyed each other, as much as he occasionally wanted to break something over Mycroft’s head, they were brothers, there was a damaged sort of love there, and he did not wish to see Mycroft as wounded as he would be should Lestrade leave him.

Mycroft knew that Sherlock was right, knew that Greg was 'the one' for him and he honestly didn't know how he would cope if Gregory should leave him. "How does one go about that?" It was a seriously asked question. "How does one tell the person one is in a relationship with that one is an entirely different species? That one isn't human?" Both Mycroft and Sherlock were born vampires, they had never been human.

“You’re asking me? I’ve never had occasion to know,” Sherlock nipped the corner of the bag and drew on it, swallowing the blood that filled his mouth, “I would suggest you ask Hettie, or perhaps Thomas the best way to go about it. They are drawing near their octennial.”

Pursing his lips in thought, Mycroft considered his options. "I'm asking you because you know Greg, in some ways you probably know him better than I do. You understand how he thinks and I can't afford to muck this up." He hesitated for a moment before catching his brothers eyes. "Sherlock...I want to bloodbond with him." In the vampire world that was as serious as you could get, binding their very souls together for eternity.

Had he been less self possessed, Sherlock would have dropped the blood bag in shock. He’d known that his brother was seriously in love but he hadn’t known it was _that_ serious. He dropped all pretense of mocking Mycroft and sucked contemplatively on the blood, brows furrowing as he studied his brother. He saw little signs that gave away Mycroft not having fed for an impressive amount of time, a blue tinge around his cuticles, lines cutting in deeper than usual around his eyes, the irises of the eyes themselves darker than normal. This was indeed serious. “The rash of vampire murders last year, the ones perpetrated by the Barton hunter clan, bring those up. I believe Lestrade realized that what we are exists but he convinced himself otherwise. Start with that, with making him aware that vampires are real and not savage, indiscriminate killers.”

Mycroft nodded. "I think that could be a good place to start." he was nervous though, so bloody nervous that Greg would turn away from him in disgust. "I'm having dinner with him tonight, I'll bring it up then." Mycroft looked at his little brother. "When are you going to allow yourself the chance of being happy Sherlock?" It was a question asked in honest concern.

“I am happy, or rather I will be once it’s safe to return from the ‘dead’ and get back to my life,” it was a blatant lie. He’d be content then but not happy. He drank the remains of the blood bag. He knew Mycroft was referring to his refusal to tell John how he felt but there were some risks it would be too foolish to take, even for him.

"Now that's not true and we both know it, I won't push though, I promised to stay out of it and I intend to stand by my word." It was difficult though, to stand on the sidelines and watch both his brother and John hurt when it was so clear that they both loved each other.

“Appreciated,” He moved his lanky form toward the door, “Good day Mycroft. Do try not to start a war with the Parisian consulate, good wine is already difficult to come by.” It was a rule. Sherlock always left with some parting shot. It was only when he didn’t that they both knew something was wrong.

“I’ll try, any mentioning of escargots though and all bets are out of the window, you may have to learn to appreciate beer instead.” Mycroft looked down at his papers. “Give my regards to John and don’t forget to feed him before he leaves for the interviews.” 

Sherlock just waved before he exited the room, stopping by the kitchen to pick up a simple breakfast of tea, toast, and sausage. John didn’t eat much in the mornings, a holdover from his military service. He carried the small tray back to the suite and set it down on the coffee table, managing to get onto his laptop and start typing just before John came back out.

John felt a little more like himself after showering and he was glad for it. He was wearing a pair of clean denims and a black button down shirt, no jumper since he remembered that he should dress less John for the interviews. “Oooh food.” He noticed the breakfast tray and moved over, nothing better than the first cup of tea of the day. “Did your conversation with Mycroft go okay?”

“Mmm,” he wrinkled his nose and shot off an e-mail to The Woman to set up a meeting. “He gives his morning regards and you’re welcome to have one of the motorbikes if it catches your fancy.” He used the computer as a shield to keep from staring at John. John in jumpers was oddly cute and sexy at the same time, in a button down and just the denims he was simply sexy, and very distractive.

The teacup hovered somewhere between the table and his mouth as John just looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. “Christ, he can’t say such things. If he’s not careful I might just take him up on it one day.” 

“That would be the point of the offer. Mycroft does not say things he doesn’t mean, unless he’s in discussion with foreign dignitaries.” He flattened his mouth in an expression of disgust when The Woman replied almost immediately to his e-mail, with a load of innuendo and ended hers with the ubiquitous ‘Let’s have dinner.’ Then his lips curved up in a positively evil smirk as he replied back in the positive, actual dinner in a private dining room at Il Morso Cremisi.

“It’s still not on, I would never take advantage of a friendship like that. Borrowing a bike, that I have no problems with but nothing beyond that.” John devoured a toast in two quick bites. “Who are you talking to over the computer that has put that expression on your face?” 

Sherlock had a feeling that on the next occasion appropriate to receive gifts, John would be finding a motorbike with his name on it from an anonymous gifter. “The Woman, arranging a meeting at Il Morso Cremisi. Day after tomorrow, at nine.” He closed out of the e-mail account and began hacking into the NYS database. “You’ll be coming with of course.”’

“Of course, no way I’m leaving you alone with that Succubus. She would do her very best to have you for dinner.” John bit into a sausage, chewing thoughtfully, pondering just what he could do to make that sliver of jealousy and resentment that always showed up at the mentioning of Adler’s name go away. 

“Good, though I’ve no intention of falling for the same tired line twice.” He wasn’t a fool. He broke past the firewalls of the database with embarrassing ease and manipulated a few files to have Sally Donovan’s report called into question as well as having himself put down officially as the paid expert consultant for each of the cases he’d worked. It would take away the excess stress the DI was under and preferably help Mycroft’s cause.

“I know you wouldn’t but I don’t put anything past Adler, she might have picked up some new tricks along the way. It’s what happens when you spend your time with the Moriarty’s of the world.” John finished his breakfast and put aside the tray.

“Mmm,” he finished his duplicitous online activities and closed the laptop, laying back, hands in his thinking pose, “Moriarty is a rarity. A human genius with an underworld at his beck and call. All the resources of my brother without any of the rules, passing under the radar for years.”

John hummed in response. “How did he get people to follow him they way they did...Still do. It can’t be all about money and from everything I’ve seen, Moriarty is very much human. How did he manage to build his shadow empire and keep it hidden from the likes of you and Mycroft? I really don’t get it.”

“Charm. Seducing others into being willing to do anything for him. Some humans are well possessed of an excess of charm. You for example.”

“Me? Did someone drug your blood this morning?” John looked at him with raised brows and bafflement written all over his face. 

“What makes you think I had any?” Sherlock kept his eyes closed though his lips twitched at the tone of John’s voice. “And yes you, John ‘Three Continents’ Watson is what I believed your very inebriated former comrade called you. Hit on your boss during the interview, still was hired and got a date, which was intruded on by your flatmate, wound up in a flat filled to the brim with books strewn all over, chemistry experiments in the kitchen, were kidnapped, said boss was nearly impaled by a crossbow bolt, barely saved, and not only did she walk out under your arm, she continued to date you for two months afterward. Charm was certainly involved.”

“First of all I can always tell when you’ve had blood and you definitely had some this morning, you’re looking less sallow than usual when you’ve fed.” John rubbed at the short bristly hairs at the nape of his neck in slight embarrassment as he spoke. “Charm is one thing, having success pulling is quite another. You don’t need much to succeed when it comes to pulling, just appear confident even if you’re not and offer them a warm bed at the end of the evening. That’s usually all there is to it.”

“Sarah was not just pulling John,” Sherlock felt his sluggish heart beat a bit faster knowing John paid that much attention to him. “You have quite a bit of charm, when you’re not preoccupied with something or someone hasn’t pissed you off.” 

“Sarah was...a mistake. She’s a lovely sweet woman and should never have gone there.” John had just desperately wanted someone, or rather had wanted to want someone that wasn’t Mr. tall, dark and vampire. Going after Sarah when he’d known he couldn’t love her had been a mistake and he’d ended up hurting her. They were okay now, perhaps even friends but he should never have gone there in the first place. “And usually someone or something manage to piss me off, especially any day that I’m forced to face Anderson.”

“Perfectly understandable, it’s Anderson,” Sherlock’s fingers began tapping together as his mind sifted through thoughts and information, “I stand by my observation however. The only reason you aren’t dangerously charming however, is because you don’t realize how charming you in fact are.”

John fidgeted a little where he stood, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with all that praise, especially when it came from Sherlock. “I don’t think I’ll ever see myself that way but I’m not going to waste energy arguing over it either.”

“Regardless my point is that a human with enough charm can end worlds. Hitler was human, as was Napoleon, Churchill, Chairman Mao, Margaret Thatcher. Add genius to the charm and you have something very dangerous.”

“I get that, and just because I don’t see it in me doesn’t mean that I don’t know it exists.” John bit at his bottom lip absentmindedly. “Moriarty is definitely dangerously charming, he knows exactly what to say and how to say it...Even when he’s strapping you into a semtex vest but still...He had all the moves and words down but something is still wrong...It’s like he’s completely empty inside.”

Sherlock cracked open his eyes and slid a look over at John. He’d wondered about that, about what Moriarty had said or done before he’d entered the pool. “You’re right, he is.” That had been an astounding revelation. Realizing that he was facing a true sociopath when he was always simply playing at the role. Astounding and uncomfortable.

“Seeing that, and listening to him talk there at the pool. That was when I knew how completely different the two of you were and are. Moriarty may feel a connection to you but he’s nothing like you. He’s so far beneath you that he can’t even reach the soles of your shoes....I think he knows it as well and it’s eating him up from the inside.” 

“If he’s still alive. He may not be and his body was recovered to maintain the fiction of me plunging off a building in disgrace.”

"Mm, yeah that could be the case of course." John didn't think so though, his gut feeling told him that Moriarty was alive and John had learned to trust that instinct.

“Not likely I know.” Sherlock tilted his head back to look at John upside down over the arm of the chair, “Is Lestrade likely to run from Mycroft?”

John grew still, looking over Sherlock and his sprawled out, upside down position. “I don’t know, it doesn’t sound like Greg to do that, to run. He’s more likely to tackle any issues he has head on.” John ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you think he loves your brother? Because if he does then that’s all that matters, you don’t run from love, regardless of the shape you find that love in.”

“I’ve no idea. It’s not as though I’ve been near Lestrade when he’s dealing with Mycroft to measure his pulse and pupil dilation.” Sherlock didn’t mention about Mycroft’s desire to bloodbond, that was private to his brother, “I do know Mycroft loves him, oddly enough.”

“Then I hope that Greg loves him too and that he won’t run. I think he might be pissed and he has a right to be but I think he’ll stay...I hope he will.” John really hoped it would work out for Mycroft and Greg for both their sakes.

Sherlock nodded and moved on. He trusted John’s opinion on emotional motivations, especially those of people they knew. “I’ve sent the names of the first four schoolmates to interview and their locations to your phone. Top of the list is Eric Lansing, Powers’ best friend but also his closest competitor.”

“Ah best friends but also the one most ready to slander you when you’re not close by.” John rolled his eyes. “Had a few of those in school with me as I grew up...Luckily they swayed toward more posh sports than rugby so I didn’t have to deal with them very often.” John looked at the information on his phone. “I’m going to head out soon, help me choose a bike to borrow?”

Sherlock rose to his feet easily without comment, nodding as he hitched his clothes into place. “Stop by 221 before you return and get my violin? Composing isn’t the same without hearing the music outside my head.”

No John couldn’t imagine that it was. It had to be horrible having a head full of music and no outlet for it. “I’ll get it, I need my laptop as well so I had already planned to stop by.” 

“Hm. Thank you. There’s a cabinet of leathers and helmets in differing sizes in the garage so you’ll have the appropriate protection on the motorbike.” 

“That’ll be fine, I don’t plan on sliding out but it’s been nearly a lifetime since I last rode a bike, some protection might be a good thing.” John followed Sherlock down toward the garage. They saw a few of Mycroft’s underlings as they walked and just because the one bringing the food the night before had been uncomfortable meeting a human, John did his best to practically fling his humanity at the vampires they did meet. It would at least annoy some of them and it amused John.

A couple times one or two of the others seemed as if they were about to attack John but one intent look from Sherlock stopped them. He knew that John would hold his own in a fight but not only did they not really have time for it, he simply did not want one of his brother’s lowly minions laying a hand, in any way, on John. Human or not the doctor was far above them. They reached the garage, filled with dozens of vintage vehicles and the tools to maintain them.

“Doona even think aboot sneakin’ off wi’out talkin’ wi’ me Sherlock Holmes,” it was a warm voice with a heavy Scottish burr, and it was coming from underneath an Aston Martin.

John stopped at the sound of the voice and smiled at the expression Sherlock got on his face, like a little schoolboy who had been caught sneaking a cookie before dinner time. Though he hadn’t met the voice yet it was a voice that inspired both calm and safety to those that listened to it. John watched as a pair of heavy working boots came into sight, shortly followed by the rest of the man.

“I was not,” Sherlock held out a hand to the man in coveralls, helping him to his feet, “sneaking off as you put it Thomas. I don’t intend to leave the property today.”

“Aye sure an’ ya don’ laddie,” thin lips parted in a cheerful grin. The man was somewhere between John and Sherlock in height, possessed of flaming red hair, not obviously bulky but it was clear he had strength in a wiry body and the wide, blunt fingered hands and he stood like a fighter, “Doona mean ya weren’ gonna sneak off afore I got hold o’ ya. Ya were gonna sneak back inta tha hoose an’ no’ even say hello or intraduce me ta yer friend.” He turned his friendly gaze on John and offered his hand, “Thomas MacAlister, I understand ya met my Hettie last night.”

John took the offered hand and gave the redheaded vampire a smile. “John Watson, yes I did have the pleasure of meeting Hettie last night. Wonderful lady and I must say that she brews the best cuppa I have tasted in my entire life.” 

“Tha’s my lass.” You could hear the complete adoration in his voice, “It’s nice ta finally meet the lad’s doctor, hunter doctor if I’m readin right. So yer after usin’ one o’ the bikes then? Any bike brand ya favor over others?”

The surge of rightness that went through him at being called Sherlock’s doctor was nearly staggering and something John would have to analyze later on. “Not really, back when I had a bike it was a Ducati but I’m not picky. Just steer me clear of the largest muscle packages out there...I’ve always found that rather pathetic...’I’m short and small but look at the giant metal prick between my legs’...” John scoffed. 

Sherlock couldn’t help the twitch of his lips at that, even as hearing John called his made him feel warm down to his core. He might occasionally think of John as his but hearing someone else say it was a different feeling. It meant that other recognized a bond between him and John, no matter how little it resembled the one he really wanted.

Thomas laughed heartily, “Oh now that’s a lad. Weel if yer up for nostalgia, there’s a couple of Ducat’s here.” He lead John over to where the bikes were lined up nice and neat.

Sherlock went to pick out some leathers in John’s size from the cabinet behind the bikes.

John almost moaned out loud as he saw all the pretty bikes, all of them in top condition, clean and obviously well cared for. “Mycroft do like the thought of his minions driving black bikes doesn’t he? Such a drama queen.” John looked over the mostly black bikes when his eyes caught another black bike but this one had details in a bright clear electric blue color. He ran his fingers along the Ducati. “Oh but this one, this is just pretty.” 

“Aye that she is an’ a dream ta ride. Just tuned ‘er up last night.” Thomas radiated approval.

“Oh I can just imagine the feel of her underneath you.” John had to check that he wasn’t drooling openly. It really was a gorgeous motorcycle, one made to be ridden. “Would you mind terribly if I was to take her out for a little spin today?”

“No’ at all laddie. Good bikes need ta be ridden,” Thomas went to the pegboard and retrieved the keys for the bike.

John was walking over to where Sherlock was getting leathers and a helmet. There was a slight bounce in John’s step and he had difficulties containing his smile. “Isn’t she a beauty? Thank you Sherlock for asking Mycroft if I could borrow a bike for the day.”

God. If it made John get that delighted look, Sherlock would have danced naked in front of Anderson. “You’re welcome,” he handed John a jacket and leather over trousers with padded knees before plucking up the helmet that matched the bike.

Still not being able to stop grinning like some sort of half-wit. He took the leathers, pulling the over trousers on and the jacket after that. “There, I think I’m ready to battle the roads of London now.”

There was something about John in motorbike leathers that went straight to the unruly beast Sherlock’s libido had become of late and had it sitting up and howling. He looked over John’s shoulder at Thomas to disguise it as he held out the helmet and answered, “Yes, perhaps the city’s occupants should be warned.”

“Boring, you’re not even going to let me use some innocent pedestrians as human bowling pins? Where’s your sense of adventure man?” John pulled the helmet on and swung a leg over the frame of the bike, accepting the keys from Thomas. “I have my phone with me so just text if you can think of anything else that I should ask during the interviews and such. Be good today, don’t irritate your brother too much or else he might not let me play with his toys anymore.”

“What would be the point? Mycroft won’t be any fun to irritate today so you may rest your mind on the matter.”

Thomas chuckled, “Even th’ mighty fall ta their heart’s desire laddie.”

“Well I still say that you should behave...Although I suppose I could be persuaded to look the other way if you were to...oh I don’t know...Break into Anderson’s flat and rearrange his sock drawer? I wonder how long it would take him to crack and tell Sally that Sherlock is haunting him...” John snickered and turned the key, loving the purring sound the bike made. “See you later.”

Sherlock nodded and watched John pull out of the garage and down the drive. He could feel Thomas’ eyes on him, sharp and observant, and looked over, lifting a brow.

The former enforcer shook his head and pat Sherlock’s shoulder, “Now ya know I doona nag. I leave tha’ ta Hettie an’ Mikey. So ya can come wi’ me an’ have a drink and tell me what’s on yer mind.”

Thomas had been the one who’d taught him how to defend himself, who’d listened to Sherlock raging over the stupid nannies and ridiculous children he was forced to consort with and their tiny minds, and the only one who’d not judged him for his addiction to cocaine users’ blood. So Sherlock simply turned in the direction of Thomas’ office, “Tell me you finally procured a decent bottle of liquor. The swill masquerading as whiskey the last time I had a drink with you made my mouth numb for a week.”

_**To be continued…** _


	5. Part Five

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter, John doing his best being undercover, brotherly bickering and our boys angsting._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Five._ **

John was showed into Eric Lansing’s office by a secretary who did not mind the sight of John’s leathers if her warm smile was anything to go by. 

John was no Sherlock but he could make his own deductions as he looked around the office. Mediocre business, most the business belonged to the father in law. The photos and trophies showed that Lansing was still living large on accomplishments he achieved in school. 

“Mr. Lansing, thank you for agreeing to meet with me with such short notice.”

“Not at all,” a polite smile with too white teeth, “Though I don’t know how much help I might possibly be to your story. I gave an interview when Carl died,” he shook his head, “Such a waste. He was a brilliant swimmer.”

“Still you were the one who knew him best, his best friend and his strongest competition from   
what I’ve heard.” John sent Lansing a familiar smile. “It’s just with how things are or are not these days even an old case like this deserves someone looking at it a second time, don’t you agree? Maybe put the government’s resources to good use for once, instead of them just lining the politicians pockets.” John had become rather good and sprouting bullshit with a straight face if he could say so himself. “What can you tell me about how Carl Powers was when he was alive? Fans, people jealous of his success and his friends...anything like that?”

“Oh well, Carl had a lot of fans, people always want to admire a star don’t they?” Lansing sat down behind his desk, “and more than a few friends, some real, some not. I can tell you that even though I was his best friend, I was more than a little jealous of him now and again. Things seemed to come easy for him when it felt like I was just treading water. But I loved him like a brother so it never got between us. There were others who were outright jealous and more who just didn’t like Carl.”

“Isn’t that how it always is, people too lazy or not talented enough to make something of themselves try and make themselves feel better by tearing down one who was on his way of making it.” John managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Do you remember any of the ones who didn’t like Carl? What they said or did? Did Carl ever give them a reason not to like them? Believe me, some people wouldn’t be able to take a joke even if jumped up and bit them on the arse.”

“Well I’d like to say that Carl was always the best of people and nice to everyone but,” an ironic twist of lips, “He wasn’t, I wasn’t either. We took some jokes too far and others, well there were one or two people in the school who got picked out as the punching bags, not literally punched but you know what I mean. I’m not proud of it and I’ve tried to teach my son to be better than Carl and I was. One of them, a girl, bit of a nerd look about her, always had her nose in a book and kept her head down, Natalie Evans. I’d knock her books out of her hand passing by and Carl would tease her about her freckles and glasses and frumpy clothes. Neither of us were none too popular with her but she got her revenge on me definitely.”

John looked at the man on the other side of the deck, giving him the first honest smile he’d sported since came into the office. “Married her did you? Oh I bet she made you crawl for her attention.” 

“Crawl, twist into a pretzel, lick her pumps, and beg in front of the world. And it was worth it,” he chuckled, “Two kids now, I’m still her slave and she’s still beautiful.” He picked up a pen and fiddled with it, “The other kid, well I didn’t mess with him much, bumped into him in the halls mostly and I stopped that after learning that he was epileptic. Carl...well he didn’t. I don’t know why, I really don’t. Poor kid just tried to keep his head down and stay invisible and Carl would just seek him out to pick at him. I used to wonder if it wasn’t like pulling pigtails on the playground, Jamie was damn pretty for a guy.”

“Jamie?” Oh there had to be something there. “Do you remember anything else about him? Last name? Family? Anything at all?” 

“Uh, Murray I think. James Murray. One minute,” he picked up his phone and hit a speed dial number, “Hey Nat. Going alright. Listen I’m talking to a reporter about Carl and who might have held a grudge on him- yes I know sweetheart. Anyway do you remember Jamie Murray? Yeah, know anything about his family? Friends?” He nodded, listening to his wife for a little bit, “Okay, thanks. How’s our terror?” He grimaced, “All over the mirror? _And_ the rug? Right. Right. Okay I’ll pick up some more diaper cream and dish liquid on the way home then. Love you. Bye.”

John battled his amusement and lost. “I don’t think I want to know what’s all over the mirror and rug. It sounds like you have your work cut out for you when you get home though.” He actually felt a little bit bad about lying to this man; it was obvious that Eric Lansing was a good man who loved his family. John only hoped it would lead him closer to Moriarty and his secret. In order to help Sherlock he would do anything, a few lies was nothing compared to helping Sherlock any way he could.

“Oh yeah. Anyway Jamie Murray, always got picked up by some discreet black car, occasionally complained about his mother being insane, apparently she named both her sons the same thing. Older brother who was, according to Nat, monstrously over protective. Don’t know what’s happened to him, Nat said he dropped off the radar years ago.”

“Thank you so very much, you have been a huge help as it is.” James and James Murray one of them became Moriarty but what happened to the other one? How far would the older brother go to protect his little brother? 

“Not a problem. I hope that can help you find what you need to,” he smiled, “Dr. Watson.”

“And here I thought I was being so sneaky.” John gave him a wry smile. “I do thank you though, the things we do for our loved ones...it’s madness indeed. Take my advice, leave work early today, go home and be with your wife and children, let them know how important they are to you.” 

Sympathy entered the man’s eyes. “I think I will at that. Just so you know though Dr. Watson, my family are still in Mr. Holmes’ corner. He proved that Carl didn’t just drown accidentally, something I always thought the investigating officer was a tit for assuming, and I’m grateful to him for that.”

“Believe in Sherlock Holmes, I do.” John nodded and got up from his seat and leaned over the desk to shake the other man’s hand. “Thank you for your time.”

The handshake was firm and warm, “Good luck with your investigation. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I hope so too.” John picked up his notebook and his helmet and left Lansing’s office. He had a few more interviews to do before he’d go to Baker Street, pick up Sherlock’s violin and a few of his things as well as let Mrs. Hudson know he really was okay.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock was lying on the rooftop, probably not a good place to be found by John, and studying the water stain patterns of the roof tiles. In short, he was _bored_. Incredibly, mind-numbingly so.

“Don’t you look like you’re having a bundle of fun?” Mycroft, walked across the rooftop with effortless grace, his umbrella over his head to protect his suit from the slight drizzle. 

“Oh what do you want? We’re not attempting brotherly bonding now are we?” He didn’t bother to look up at Mycroft, “Because that ship has sailed on multiple times and struck an iceberg centuries ago as I recall.”

“Oh dear god no.” Mycroft’s eyes widened and he curled his lips. “Besides, out of the two of us I’m not the one prone to self punishment. I’m a creature of comfort.” He looked out over the rooftops of London, knowing that he ruled over all of them, no matter what the people who lived their boring little lives underneath those roofs believed. “You are free to sulk where you want to but I thought I should tell you that your doctor is on his way back, he’s already left Baker Street. You let him find you here and a broken nose might be the least of your problems.”

He heaved a massively put upon sigh and got up. He’d really rather not but Mycroft was, annoyingly, correct. John would remove pieces of his anatomy if he found him here. “I would quite like to personally remove Moriarty’s head for subjecting me to such a _boring_ state of events.”

“Yes, poor you, so bored and listless. It’s not as if you were actually given a gift in the form of a hunter of all people tracking you down...Willing to put his life completely on hold to help you. It must be such a hardship for you having to wade through all that boredom.” Mycroft turned on his heel. “I normally let you play your little games on your own but grow up and get over yourself Sherlock, before that man realizes just how much better than you he deserves.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” It was an irritated, violent hiss, “I am well aware of how damaged I am Mycroft and how much more John deserves. Keep your nose out of my love life, lacking or not, and concentrate on your own.” To forestall any argument, Sherlock jumped from the roof into the branches of a humongous oak tree then down from the tree and into the open conservatory.

Mycroft looked where Sherlock had disappeared and his mask slipped a little. Sherlock wasn’t damaged, no more than anyone else but he couldn’t see the good things about himself. Mycroft truly hoped that John would be able to show Sherlock just how much he deserved to be loved. 

He couldn’t promise to keep his nose out of Sherlock’s love life though, not if he wanted to make sure his little brother actually would have one. Talking to Sherlock would be pointless, no he’d better concentrate on the good doctor...and maybe actions spoke louder than words? Mycroft twirled his umbrella as he left the roof plotting a little kidnapping plan that would force the two blockheads to act.

Sherlock really didn’t stay in the conservatory longer than a few seconds before sweeping through the house to the room he was currently occupying to throw himself onto the sofa and start brooding. It was not _sulking_ no matter what his brother believed, or John for that matter. It was sinking into deep, intense, and occasionally dark thought. And they were indeed dark at the moment. Just because Mycroft actually had a sex life with the man he loved didn’t give him the right to shove his face into his own shortcomings. He was more than well aware of everything that was wrong with him and he didn’t need his big brother rubbing salt in old wounds like he always had.

John parked the bike, returned the keys, leathers and helmet before he worked himself through the strange labyrinth that was Mycroft’s stronghold. Sure everything was top of the line and luxurious but John would pick Baker Street any day of the week. He didn’t know about Mycroft’s personal rooms but the rest of the house...manor...compound lacked personality. It just felt like a high end hotel and John didn’t really like it. 

He found his way to Sherlock’s suite and found his flatmate on the couch, face tucked in against the pillows. Something was bothering Sherlock, something other than Moriarty and the fall. John only wished that his friend would to talk him. John wanted to help but he had no idea what he could do. 

Sherlock was aware of John entering the suite slash glorified hotel room slash prison cell but he didn’t move from his position, choosing to speak just loud enough that his voice would carry through the cushions, “Find anything?”

“Mmm, I think so.” John walked over to the couch and pushed at Sherlock’s feet until he had room to sit down. “Lansing’s a very good bloke by the way. One of the ones who grows up and changes. One of Power’s targets was a girl...Who Lansing ended up marrying and the other was a boy named Jamie Murray, apparently very pretty for a boy. Insane mother and extremely overprotective older brother. Both Murray brothers were named James.”

“Hm,” Sherlock rolled just enough so that he was curled in fetal position on the couch, giving John more room, “Text Mycroft and tell him to look for James Murray. I’m not giving that fat bastard the satisfaction of contact.”

Oh dear, it was back to fat bastard now was it? What on earth could have happened during the hours John had been away? When he left this morning things seemed to be going well. At least as well as you could hope for when it came to the Holmes brothers. “You know that he’ll know that you told me to text.” John did as he was told though and sent the text to Mycroft’s phone. “Oh and here’s your violin and a tin of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits. Apparently I must be starving since I’m out of from under her watchful eye. You like those biscuits so no reason not to eat a few.”

“Later.” He heard John set the items down and followed the single word up with, “Thank you,” after realizing that it was the polite and proper and ‘normal’ thing to do.

John scratched at his scalp and looked down at his curled up friend. “What’s wrong? I don’t really expect you to tell me but something is definitely bothering you. Where’s my Sherlock, the brilliant obnoxious genius? Tell me who to go out and shoot to make you feel better and I’ll do it.” He looked down at his feet and then back to Sherlock. “Mycroft must have a training room in this high tech mausoleum right? Let’s go have that spar, work some energy off. You can show me your dazzling vampire moves and I can kick your arse into submission...Come on up you go.”

He couldn’t keep his lips from twitching even though hearing John call him ‘my Sherlock’ and knowing it didn’t mean what he’d give his right frontal lobe to mean tore at his heart. It simply wasn’t possible for him to keep completely distant when John was making cracks like that. He shook his head though, “There is a training room, and it’s recorded at all times. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of watching either of us in full form any more than I would text his fat arse myself.” Not right now in any case and just see if he helped Mycroft with Lestrade ever again, bloody sanctimonious wart.

“You’re right, seeing me in full form would give your brother trauma for life. He would never trust his own fighting skills ever again” John let out a long suffering sigh. “Fine then, we’ll get it on here. Get off the couch and help me move the furniture. I’m not leaving you here and I will nag until you give in so get up off your arse now and save us both the trouble.”

It was a testament to just how badly he felt that Sherlock didn’t just proceed to ignore John and curl up tighter but rather got up, showing utmost reluctance of course, lifted a brow to wait for instructions of what was to be moved where, and negotiated, “Very well, if you’ll slip down to the kitchen and bring back a couple bags of blood.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll dash down and get them now. Just make sure you’re stretched and limber by the time I get back.” John slipped out to go to the kitchen and hit Hettie up for some blood. He tried very hard to convince himself that this was about cheering Sherlock up and not about finding any chance he could to touch the other man. No, absolutely not. If touching was involved in sparring then that was not his fault.

Belatedly, as he was obligingly shifting the sofa, it occurred to Sherlock that he was in what was usually a guest room and Mycroft rarely trusted his guests, which always meant cameras. He bared his fangs in an irritable hiss and spent a significant amount of effort finding and dismantling the cameras in the main part of the suite. He could find and dismantle the others later but for now he didn’t want the nosy bastard seeing what John could do. To be extra certain he went to the bedroom and grabbed a transmission jammer, opened the casing and fiddled a bit to amplify it so it would turn any recording equipment in range into nothing but snow and static. He had half a mind to send an anonymous message to Lestrade on vampires and Mycroft’s status as one before the Detective Inspector arrived for dinner with Mycroft tonight, let the fat bastard get shot.

John didn’t linger in the kitchen, just grabbed the bags Hettie handed him with a smile. To his own surprise he leaned and brushed a kiss over her cheek before hurrying up the stairs toward Sherlock’s room again. He was feeling much too giddy about this spar and he only hoped that the adrenaline of a fight, even a mock one would keep his body in check, keep it from getting any ideas being that close to Sherlock.

Sherlock had just resumed pushing the furniture out of the way after sticking the jammer on the wall when John came in. He noticed there were four bags rather than two; Hettie knew him a little too well and recognized the signs of what she called his ‘black moods’ apparently. He did tend to feed more when in one.

Looking around the room with approval, john placed the blood bags out of harm’s way. It would be a little tight moving around but they should be able to work around it. Most actual fights happened in tight spots after all. “Want a bag before we start, you might need the energy?” John rolled his shoulders and unbuttoned the black shirt and pulled it off before kicking off his shoes. He hadn’t been able to go all out against someone for a very long time and he was really looking forward to it. 

Sherlock pushed aside his desire to simply crawl back onto the couch and brood; he could resume that after this, and analyzed his body, his energy levels, reflexes, and senses before shaking his head. “No.” He’d already had one and a half pints today, any more and his ability in a fight would be dulled until the blood had been absorbed into his system. He only took off his shoes and suit jacket then turned and promptly felt his mind fall face first into the gutter seeing John bare-chested. Good God the man was beautifully put together. He was glad John wore jumpers usually because if he were to wear fitted clothes more often not only would Sherlock’s mental acuity have gone down but there was no way anyone who was attracted to men would have been able to pass him by without making a pass.

Broad shoulders, barrel chested but obviously worked out in a way that didn’t give him the ‘fat’ look that many barrel chested men had, exceptionally well defined arms, and a flat stomach that made Sherlock’s fingers itch to touch. Somehow seeing him without a shirt drew the eyes more to the strong legs encased in denim. In the back of his mind, Sherlock knew it had to do with contrast and aesthetics but, at the moment, he was too busy pulling his mind out of the gutter and pretending to study John’s scar in order to hide where his mind had fallen to properly examine the reasoning behind where his eyes had naturally been drawn.

John’s blood was singing and his body hummed with the energy that always came with a good workout. Harry had always bitched at him that he was a freak for enjoying a fake fight so much when he shied away from the real ones. She was wrong though, he didn’t shy away from a fight, he just chose who to fight and didn’t go after someone solely based on what species they were. He was glad that he was used to Sherlock’s bare feet from home at Baker Street. The man had seriously beautiful feet; John had spent hours watching those feet. Right now he just wanted to knock them out from underneath Sherlock though, see if he actually could. 

“Ready?” He gave Sherlock a challenging smile.

That smile did things to him that should be illegal but Sherlock put his mind into the game with a wrench of effort and replied with action rather than words. He struck out, hand directed at John’s face, confident that the doctor could dodge it.

And dodge it he did, moving underneath Sherlock’s arm and struck out toward the other’s chest. A lot of people took John’s size as a disadvantage but he’d learn to work with that. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t be that easily fooled but this was about feeling Sherlock out before any serious moves were thrown. 

Sherlock was aware of his longer reach as an advantage but he preferred using another physical aspect in battle over a longer reach and that was flexibility. He bent backward, John’s hand barely missing his nose as it breezed past, grabbed John’s wrist, and moved to twist it around behind him. It didn’t work and he hadn’t expected it to as john moved into the hold and twisted out of it easily before trying to sweep his legs out from under him. Sherlock flipped over John’s head to avoid that and landed in front of him.

Grinning John dropped into a crouch, keeping eye contact with Sherlock. He kept one hand on the floor and kicked up with one leg. God help him but he was so damaged. He loved this, actually loved the threat of getting the shite kicked out of him and the thought that he could do it to someone else. Loved not holding back at all, just throwing all he had at Sherlock and knowing he could both take it and throw it back. It was glorious.

He noticed the difference in John’s fighting immediately and, though he had a feeling they were both still holding back out of interest in saving the best for last, he rose to meet it. He struck, evaded, charged and dodged, increasing in effort and skill with every motion. It was play and catharsis and God knew he loved playing with John. Adrenaline spread through his quickening bloodstream, his heart beating just a little faster. He hadn’t landed a hit yet but neither had John, though they’d both managed a hold or two.

It all merged into a blur of perfection in John’s mind. Breathing in and out, heart pounding, sweat dampening his skin. John had fought vampires before but of course none of them had been Sherlock Holmes. Everything Sherlock did was amazing and fighting was no different. The vampire was art when he moved, all lean fluid lines with a very sharp bite. Right now at this moment nothing else mattered. Just the two of them and the way they made their bodies moved.

Sherlock felt a smile tweaking at his lips as he stopped holding back anything and John met him move for move. It might not have been a ‘real’ fight because neither was trying to damage the other but it was proof of John’s capability and surprising nature. Sherlock kept his abilities out of Mycroft’s eye for a very good reason that had nothing to do with how much his brother angered him. He was a stronger fighter than Mycroft. He had no illusions about his brother’s skills, he knew that Mycroft was an incredibly strong and skilled fighter no matter how much he preferred to remain behind a desk, but the fact of the matter was, Sherlock was better. He knew it the same way he knew how to identify one type of tobacco ash from another and he strove to hide it. Their father had gone into a rogue bloodfever when Sherlock was still a child and Mycroft had inherited the position of Master of Britain because he’d been the one to take their father, the former Master, down. If any vampire found out that Sherlock was a stronger fighter than Mycroft, they would inform the international council and they would try to force Sherlock into taking the job from Mycroft, something he did not want.

So, John matching him here meant that the army doctor was also better than Mycroft and it gave Sherlock a secret thrill.

John had no idea how long they had been going at it and it didn’t matter either, right now it felt as if his body could keep going for as long as he wanted it too. Finally it was simple curiosity that caused him to simply barrel into Sherlock headfirst. He just wanted to see if he could get Sherlock on his back.

He was caught by surprise, not an unusual occurrence when John was involved, just enough that he wasn’t able to evade and soon found himself staring up at the ceiling, then John’s face as he was pinned. He knew his surprise had to be showing on his face, especially when John’s grin widened, but he was too focused on the warm, solid weight over him to worry too much about his dignity.

“Told ya.” John was very much aware that it was dumb luck and surprise that had made him able to pin Sherlock. In an actual fight, all gritty and dirty and to the end he was far from certain that he could take the vampire. That wouldn’t keep him from gloating right now though, he was the one on top. That made him realize that he was actually on top, straddling Sherlock on the floor and fuck...that was a bit not good...more than a bit actually. 

Despite Sherlock’s brain’s more recent tendency to delve into filth, the absolutely arousing images that John’s position over him triggered were actually taking a back seat in his mind at the moment. He was more focused on the solid warmth and odd sense of protection he felt. It had been a fight, planned and playful so he shouldn’t be feeling the retreat of adrenaline so soon and perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps the adrenaline was mixing with instinct, dopamine, and Sherlock’s complete trust in John after his earlier upset to create his responses now. As it was, once he was over the surprise, he relaxed completely under John, content to be pinned and shielded by his friend. “So you did.”

John’s smiled turned into something warmer, something only Sherlock was able to bring out in him. He did slide off Sherlock and lay down on the floor next to him, looking up at the ceiling. “Christ I’m going to feel that tomorrow though.” It wasn’t a complaint, John actually sounded pleased as could be. His shoulder was already tightening up, a botched bullet removal in the desert didn’t make for stellar shoulders made to fight vampires. 

Sherlock slid a look over at him and in a smooth movement, following impulse and the desire to lay his hands on John’s skin; he’d managed to turn John onto his stomach and was kneading the scarred muscle tissue. “Have you considered consulting a meta-healer for your shoulder?”

Melting into a John shaped puddle of bliss; John found it hard to even find the energy to answer Sherlock. “Mmm, meta-healers aren’t exactly fans of the hunter community. Most of them would rather kill me than heal me. Could have to do with the fact that my ancestors held the torch and plenty of witch burnings. Enlightened and tolerant, that really should be the hunter motto don’t you think?” 

“Oh yes, hunters are obviously paragons of such qualities,” Sherlock chuckled and continued working out the knots, moving from the scar to the whole of John’s back. “If you ever decide you’d like to however, I’m certain I or the fat bastard could dig up a meta-healer who would help you.” He ran the heels of his hands down the line of John’s spine, pushing at the muscles there and coaxing the tension away.

John’s eyes slid shut and he relaxed completely under Sherlock’s hands, knots and tightness loosening. “Maybe, I know it would be good for me but you know me... _trust issues_. Pair that with a healthy dose of physician heal thyself complex and I’m pretty much buggered.” 

“Hm,” Sherlock chose not to continue discussing it and worked at John’s muscles until all the knots in his back and shoulders were gone, the muscles pliant. Without being aware of it, Sherlock leaned down and pressed his brow to the scarred shoulder, instinct pushing him to seek comfort from the one he wanted with all his sluggish heart. Of course as soon as he realized what he was doing he was on his feet, grabbing the blood bags, and locking himself in the bathroom.

Blinking, John was left on the floor, staring at the closed bathroom door. What in the scorching fires of hell was going on? He felt cold and uncomfortable lying alone on the floor and something inside him that was definitely not a sore muscle was hurting. John just wanted to be with Sherlock, if he couldn’t be with him the way he wanted to he had talked himself into settling with friendship. It hurt that Sherlock didn’t want the same and John was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake chasing Sherlock down on the graveyard. Maybe Sherlock had done what he did for more than one reason and now John was pushing him into spending time with him. 

“Fuck.” He got up from the floor, grabbed his bag and left the suite to find an empty bathroom where he could shower and get dressed.

Thomas, having had a visit from his mate, was outside the suite door. He took one look at John and shook his head, “Come on laddie, ya c’n use tha shower in me an’ Hettie’s quarters then have a drink wi’ me. I think ya need ta hear a bit about our lad.”

John nodded and followed behind the vampire like a lost little duckling, nothing was making any sense and John was confused. A drink sounded good though, perhaps an entire bottle. At least then he might fall asleep without making a spectacle of himself and ruin the friendship he had with Sherlock over begging him to hold him. John regretted that so much and he’d promised himself that he would never force himself on Sherlock that way ever again.

Thomas let him into the cozily decorated quarters, a miniature flat complete with kitchen really, and pointed him toward the bathroom. While the hunter showered, he got out a bottle of Glenlivet and two glasses, poured two fingers in each glass and settled down to wait for his guest. 

John wasn’t long in the shower, just rinsed off and then he was out again, drying himself and changing into clean clothes. He looked at the items in his bag before pulling out and donning one of his oldest jumpers. He was John Watson, he liked jumpers. 

The flat like rooms were warm and lovely, feeling like a real home and John was glad that Hettie and Thomas didn’t have to deal with the cold hotel-like decor even in their own quarters. 

After he had cleaned up after himself he walked to join his host. “Thank you for letting me use your shower.”

“Yer welcome laddie,” he nodded at the chair opposite him, “Just doona be tellin Sherlock I have tha good stuff,” he nodded at the bottle, “I like ta make him think I only drink swill.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” John sat down in the chair opposite the vampire and lifted his glass, admiring the dark amber liquid. “Like velvet in a glass.”

“Aye,” Thomas lifted his own glass in a salute, “The twenty one so ya’d still have been pokin at yer spots when it was casked.” His chuckle made it into a friendly joke.

“I never had spots actually, my sister absolutely _hated_ me for that.” John turned his head to the side and pointed at a very faint scar on his cheek. “See this? Got a fork to the face for pointing that fact out to my sister as she was battling hers.”

“Oh ye were a brave little laddie then, or foolish.” He took a sip of his whiskey then settled into the chair more comfortably, “Sherlock’s confusin aye? Seems all soft an’ warm like a little kitten one moment then puffs up like a great porcupine tha next, that or he’s runnin’ like a gazelle.”

“Confusing is putting it lightly yeah.” John took a sip from his glass, loving the slight burn and then the warm smoothness spreading through him from the truly excellent whiskey. “I don’t want to change Sherlock, he is who is but something is really bothering him and I wish I could do something to help.” 

“Doona close yerself off,” Thomas turned his glass around, admiring the light filtering through the liquor, “Runnin’ or hissin’ and spittin’ nay matter what tha lad does, doona close yerself off. I know tha problem o’ tha day but I canna be tellin ya what it is. I can tell ya part o’ what makes tha lad so skittish, if ya understand that ya use it tha wrong way, an’ you’ll be dealin with me an’ I won’t leave enough for Mycroft to so much as spit on.”

“Such a charming image you are painting for me there.” John’s tone was dry. “I’m glad he has people like you around him, people who care.” He thrummed his fingers on the smooth edge of his glass. “I would rather rip my own heart out of my chest than hurt Sherlock in any way...As far as dealing with you...Well you’re welcome to try.” 

“Now who do ya think trained tha laddie?” Thomas gave him a smirk before sobering, “I believe ya wouldna hurt him on purpose but I make it my job to look after the lad when I can.” He leaned back, turning his glass on the table, “Sherlock was nay planned, a very rare ‘accident’ among vampires. Both Seiger an’ Violet only wanted tha one babe so when Violet found out she was pregnant again...didna go over well.” He shook his head, “She tried ta get abort Sherlock, several times, but the lad was stubborn before he was born. Nay even interfectorem mortuorum worked an she nearly killed herself wi’ that attempt.”

The hand resting on John’s thigh tightened into a fist but he did his best to stay calm. It didn’t stop him from wanting to find Sherlock’s mother and show her just what damage a real hunter could do. Sherlock had not asked to be conceived or born but how could anyone hate a child that much, a baby, especially one as amazing as Sherlock...Yes John knew he was biased but he didn’t give a fuck. Ever since the first meeting with Sherlock all John had wanted to do was to take care of him, protect him and love him. 

“After he was born, well he was just passed over ta a wet nurse til he didna need milk anymore. Then it was tha string o’ nannies til he proved he could chase even the stoutest off, Violet just ignored ‘im. Ta her, Sherlock didna exist. Sieger was another story,” Thomas took a drink, “Never struck Sherlock, didna have ta strike ‘im ta cause damage, not with the lad’s mind. Nay he did all his hurtin’ wi’ words an’ made it clear that Sherlock had nay been wanted, convinced the lad that he was a waste o’ space an’ blood, worth nothin.” He shook his head, “Should have seen the signs at that in Sieger, of goin’ mad, but no one but Sherlock did. When Sherlock was still just a wee thing an’ Mycroft came home from his council trainin’ the lad tried to warn Mycroft. Didn’t really go well.”

“No I can’t imagine that it would have.” John could easily picture a young Mycroft, full of his own power, returning from council training. He would not have listened to anything Sherlock said, especially if it was anything against their father. Mycroft had been wanted, the golden child. It was something he hadn’t really grown out of over the centuries; Mycroft still didn’t listen, not really.

“Aye I can see ya’ve got the picture. Sherlock was right o’ course, and before the week was out Sieger had gone inta bloodrage. Started rippin’ through the village, a village Sherlock escaped ta daily. He’d visit tha baker’s family, their daughter was a sweet lass, just married tha miller’s son, an’ she always welcomed Sherlock round. That lass was more of a mother ta Sherlock than Violet could ever aspire ta.” He closed his eyes sadly, “Sieger had followed Sherlock’s scent into the village, planned ta kill him, found him helping Victoria put tha fillin inta some pastries. Victoria had grown up knowin’ Sieger, seen him a hundred time smilin’ at ‘er an’ being tha best ‘lord’ of tha estate that he could be but she wasna a fool. She got Sherlock inta a corner and stood there in front of him, refused to move. And Sieger killed her in front of tha lad then Mycroft came an’ took his father down.

“Mycroft was in no fit state to comfort Sherlock, and Violet, well...she’d loved Sieger and never wanted Sherlock. That poor lad was covered in blood from Victoria and Violet just tore inta him, and convinced him in less than a minute that he was poison. That he wasn’t any good for anyone an’ would only bring pain an’ suffering an’ misfortune to anyone ‘foolish enough’ to love him.” Thomas drained his glass, “The lad still believes it.”

“Oh Sherlock.” John’s heart was hurting, every beat of it felt like a punch against his ribs. “He is more worthy of being loved than anyone else that I’ve ever met. I’m just a man, my time here on earth cannot compare to how long Sherlock’s been here but oh he deserves being loved, _should be and is_ loved.” John sighed not knowing if he was wording things right, it was difficult to put words to the emotions whirling inside him. “If it was up to me...then he would never have to doubt being loved ever again.”

“O’ course he deserves it but he’s afraid,” he met John’s gaze, “an’ no’ so much for himself. He’s come ta believe he’s ‘bad’ for people so if he think he’s relying too much on someone, or gettin’ too close, he’ll run or lash out to keep others from makin’ a ‘mistake’ by carin’ for him. Ya are tha first person who’s gotten as far as ya have, so don’ back off. Stay wi’ him an’ don’ let space grow between ya.”

John stayed silent, taking it all in, mentally rearranging everything he thought he knew. Even after all Thomas had told him, John wasn’t sure that Sherlock wanted or loved him but he was going to make sure that if Sherlock did, then John already was his. John could be a stubborn bugger when he wanted to and know the was going to use every ounce of that stubbornness to hold on to Sherlock, love him, take care of him and never ever let go. “Thank you so much for telling me this, I won’t use it against him and I am going to show him he’s loved and the best man I know...I’m sorry I can’t stay but I have an idiot to get back to.”

“Aye, that you do. Bit o’ little extra information, if he starts feedin’ a great deal, somethin’s botherin’ him. ‘Lock’s an emotional eater. So go take care o’ tha little twit.”

“Sir yes sir!” John got up from his chair, standing at attention and saluting the other man. He hadn’t quite lost his soldier moves yet. He grinned at Thomas and grabbed a hold of his bag. “Give my love to Hettie and thank you again.” John nodded at Thomas and left the cozy flat to walk back to Sherlock’s suite.

Sherlock had come out of the bathroom upon hearing John’s exit and was now sprawled on the couch, sucking on the third bag of blood and wondering, not for the first time and probably not for the last, just what was wrong with him? Why did he seek out and grow attached to what he knew he’d end up destroying?

When John returned to the suite he was relieved to find Sherlock out of the bathroom and on the couch once more. He didn’t say anything, just moved to pick up the tin with Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits and sat down on the couch, lifting Sherlock’s feet and placing them in his lap instead so the tall vampire wouldn’t have to pull his legs up. “So, how about some Dr. Who? Last episode we watched was the one with that fish monster woman. Ready to see some more?” He picked up a biscuit and nibbled on it.

Sherlock just stared for a few blinks, then relaxed. John wasn’t going to ask and apparently was going to continue on as they had always gone. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, Sherlock couldn’t help but grab for the offering and hold onto it with both metaphorical hands. “By all means.”

“Brilliant.” John rummaged through his bag for the DVD case he’d brought from Baker Street. He loaded the disk and returned to his seat on the couch and once again placed Sherlock’s feet in his lap. From here on out Sherlock better get used to being touched and cared for because John was on a mission now. He was just starting out slow because he really didn’t want Sherlock locking himself up on the bathroom again right now. John slowly stroked his hand over Sherlock’s foot as they watched the show.

He knew he should pull his feet out of John’s lap and sit up, that he should start pulling away, but he wasn’t able to. He was starved for touch and comfort and John was here giving it to him. He couldn’t be strong and pull away after the emotional pique he’d gone through today. It was selfish but when had he not been selfish?

He tried to concentrate on the program but he was still tired from nearly a month without rest, an emotional day, and the spar with John. The gentle, absent touch soothed him until his eyes drooped then closed before he got to the final blood bag. His last thought before sleep claimed him completely was that he hoped Lestrade at least clocked Mycroft.

_**To be continued…** _


	6. Part Six

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter, Mystrade, Greg finds out the truth about his lover. Does he shoot him as Sherlock hopes he will?_

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Six._ **

Mycroft knew that Greg would be late coming over. After Sherlock’s fall the DI had been forced to take on more cases to prove his worth. Mycroft was working on making sure the proof that Sherlock had been the real deal would get to the media and Greg’s superiors but it was a slow, tricky road since Moriarty had done his work very well. 

He was nervous, no scratch that he was fucking terrified that after tonight Greg would want nothing to with him. Mycroft didn’t even want to think about what would happen then. Most likely he would have to goad Sherlock into killing him before the blood rage claimed him completely. 

Lestrade cursed and was very tempted to just flip the entirety of New Scotland Yard off and see if Mycroft might be interested in helping him find a different job. He was dealing with the shifts from hell and all of them, _all of them_ , were little shite cases that an amoeba could solve in its spare time. If they were going to force him to be late they could at least make the cases decent. He smirked, at least he got to ‘share the joy’ with Donovan and Anderson. Neither of the two had gained any ground or gotten higher up the ladder over their eager little ‘case’ against Sherlock so they were both still in his department and under his command.

He finally got off and was on his way to dinner with his lover. He’d been thinking about and wanting to get to Mycroft all bloody day and not just for the wild, incredible sex. He liked the other man’s company, the clever tongue and quiet manner with the thrum of power that just seemed so much more than what an ordinary man should possess, and also liked the softness he saw in Mycroft, something he was certain very, very few were privileged enough to know about. He hit his speed dial for Mycroft’s number and put it on speaker while he drove.

“Hello Gregory, finally thrown off the shackles of menial labor for the day then?” Mycroft held his phone tightly and hoped that the mind numbing terror he felt couldn’t be heard in his voice. 

“Funny but yeah, I’m on my way. Been busy today?” It was a bit of a silly question, Mycroft’s days were always busy, but it was how he asked about the other man’s day without asking what he’d done. He never pushed to know things he shouldn’t.

Mycroft suddenly had the urge to pour his heart out, to tell Greg all about how he had fucked things up with Sherlock...again. Of course he couldn’t so he just hummed under his breath. “Busy, busy. I do wish the children could learn to do some work on their own without constant supervision.”

Greg snickered, “Oh but they know that Daddy’ll always take care of it for them so why should they?” He cut through traffic like a bad tempered shark.

“Daddy might just throw them to the wolves to teach them a lesson one of these days...Besides, Daddy won’t be around forever so they better learn to stand on their own two feet sooner rather than later.” Mycroft treasured Greg’s chuckle, hoping it wasn’t the last time he’d hear it.

He grimaced, “Oh that’s a depressing thought. Personally I like to pretend you’ll be around for eternity, guiding things from behind the scenes.”

“Not even eternity lasts forever, sometimes it’s shorter than you think.” Mycroft sighed at his own gloomy thoughts. “Just hurry up and get over here, without getting into an accident or getting pulled over.”

Greg slid his gaze briefly to the phone in a concerned frown, “Are you okay baby?” It was a pet name he reserved for the bedroom or if he thought Mycroft was upset.

“I need to talk to you...Ask me that again afterwards.” His sluggish heart was pounding now and Mycroft didn’t like the feeling, he did not like it all.

He felt his stomach clench and his hands gripped the wheel in worry. “Five minutes, at the outside. Whatever’s wrong we’ll deal with it together.” He knew he was perilously close to confessing undying love but considering that he was arse over tits for Mycroft, that was going to wind up being confessed sooner or later.

“See you when you get here.” Mycroft ended the call and got up to pace the soft carpet of his room. One man, one single extraordinary man had done was centuries hadn’t been able to and brought Mycroft to his knees. As long as Greg was with him, Mycroft wouldn’t mind walking on his knees for the rest of his existence.

Lestrade stepped on the gas and got to Mycroft’s house sooner than he ever had before, waving a short hello to Thomas before going in search of Mycroft, starting as always with the office. Office, kitchen, and dining room were clear and Greg decided to skip to the end and head for Mycroft’s quarters.

Mycroft looked up when the doors to his quarters opened and Greg stepped inside. His heart clenched at the sight of the other man and if control hadn’t been bred into him since birth, his hands might even have shaken. “Good to know you made it here in one piece.”

He walked forward and lifted his hands to cup Mycroft’s face, “What’s wrong Mycroft?”

He leaned into Greg’s touch for a short moment before pulling away, he couldn’t fall apart now. Not before he’d said anything. “Please sit down.” 

Once he’d been able to maneuver Greg into a seat, Mycroft sat down opposite him and crossed one leg over the other. “I don’t really know where to start but there are things that needs to be said. Do you remember the string of really vicious murders last year? The bodies put on display near graveyards and holy sites?”

Greg frowned, “Yeah, hard to forget a rash of beheadings and corpses staked to the ground. Never did find the bastard who did it, was like he just disappeared. You’re not going to tell me that the killer worked for you are you?” Because if that was the case he was going to need an hour to punch the shit out of a bag in Mycroft’s gym because two of the victims had been children.

“Of course not, those butchers did most certainly not work for me.” Mycroft actually looked upset at the very thought. “The reason I’m asking you is, did you ever see anything strange about the victims, about the way they were killed and everything surrounding the case? Not only those cases but other ones too.” 

“You mean the vampire iconography? Our profiler did a work up on that, figured that the killer was obsessed with vampire mythology and believed the people he killed were the undead.” Greg’s frown didn’t ease but he reached over and squeezed Mycroft’s knee, not liking the upset on his face. “We get a few things like that every now and again, though usually it’s people believing their vampires and acting out the fantasy of drinking people’s blood.”

Mycroft’s lip curled at the undead comment but he had to keep going now while he had the courage to. “Usually yes, but what about the times that are not freaks and delusional people? What about those cases Gregory?” He couldn’t take comfort in Greg’s touch not until he knew if Greg could really accept him for whom he was, _what_ he was.

Greg wasn’t stupid, he could see where Mycroft was trying to lead him. “Are you telling me that vampires are real Mycroft?”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you.” Mycroft kept his voice steady. “Not the bogeyman version, cursed by god or the devil, not sensitive to crossed, holy land, holy water or garlic. Not dying by a stake to the heart...well okay, that can be fatal if one knows what one’s doing. I’m talking a sub-species, evolved alongside humankind. It’s real, it really is.” Taking a deep breath he pulled his lips back and showed his own pearly white fangs.

Part of not being stupid is also being skeptical so Greg’s first reaction was to reach out and pull on one of the fangs to see if it was really there. After all he’d had his tongue in Mycroft’s mouth, multiple times, and had that mouth around his cock before so he could be forgiven for not quite buying sudden fangs as they hadn’t been there before. Of course the sharp edge of the fang wound up slicing into his finger when he pulled and it didn’t budge. He jerked his hand back with a hiss to inspect the damage, his brain screaming out a very loud ‘Run moron! RUN!’ klaxon alarm.

Mycroft hurriedly sheathed his fangs but he still tasted Greg's blood inside his mouth and since it was the blood of the one he coveted mind and body didn't really want to work together here. "You poke my teeth?" I came out more of a question than a statement like he really couldn't believe it had happened.

Greg pulled a napkin left from a very sad lunch of a chip butty and used it to press against the cut on his finger, giving Mycroft a slight scowl, “Well what else was I going to do? I’ve been sleeping with you since Baskerville and never saw hint of bloody fangs before so excuse me for checking to see they were real and not just put ons to confuse the bugger out of me.” He grimaced as salt on the napkin stung the cut, “How long have you had fangs?” He needed to know if this was a recent development or if he needed to curse a blue streak at his lover.

"Time is irrelevant." Mycroft kept his eyes on Greg. "I've have fangs since my teeth first came in but I suppose that's not what you're really asking...let's just say that this queen bearing this name is not the first Elizabeth to have reigned during my existence."

Mycroft had lived during the Elizabethan era. Greg just stared a bit. He knew Mycroft, or at least liked to think he knew him, better than most so he was mostly certain that there was no possible way his lover would lie about this to pull off an elaborate prank. Still if he’d kept this from him, he could be keeping an unknown sense of humor from him as well. Moments like this he wished Sherlock was around to...his narrowed his eyes, grit his teeth and asked, “How close to immortal are you?”

“Immortal is such a big word, we can certainly die in plenty a ways...It just takes a little longer or a little more effort to get us there.” Mycroft was seeing where Greg’s mind was going, oh his chosen was clever indeed. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, he couldn’t help but feel such a sense of pride for Greg. 

His mind arrived at the right conclusion with very little wait and he surged up, practically growling, “You son of a _bitch_. Oh you had damn bloody fucking well have a good reason for not telling me Sherlock’s alive because if you don’t I am going to shoot your dick off! I’ve been blaming myself for his ‘death’ for the past month. I fucking _cried_ in your arms you bastard so it had better be the best God Fucking Damn reason for an action to ever cross your lips.”

“I promised him.” It came out calm though Mycroft was feeling anything but. “Sherlock needed to jump, Moriarty had seen to it. One sniper trained on Mrs. Hudson, one on John...and one on you. If Sherlock didn’t jump the snipers were ordered to take the shot and they are still watching, still waiting for a single mistake so they can pull the trigger. Sherlock is scrambling to fix him and I couldn’t go against him in this ...not again.” 

Greg opened his mouth, shut it, then spun to the nearest wall, pulling his arm back and punching it as hard as he could. He kicked the armoire beside it a few times for good measure, all while turning the air around him blue, “Bloody buggering arsewart twat fuck face, ‘oh I’m so clever look at me’ little fucking bastard of the massive goddamn bloody ego shithead, piss drinking fucker.” He kept cursing as he turned to pace, running out of English curses and falling into Welsh. “Anws blewog ast cachau bant, dos i chwara dy Nain. Malu cachu twll tin gotsan haliwr!”

He wound down and dropped back into his chair with an irritable grumble and just looked at Mycroft.

Mycroft looked back, having stayed silent and still during Greg’s tantrum, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. “Are you done? I especially liked the hairy assed bitch fuck part.”

“Oh kiss my arse.” Greg rubbed his hand over his face, “I’m a copper, I know the logic behind the mess, and I’m a brother so I know the loyalty behind the silence. That does _not_ make me feel any better about it in the first place though. especially not since the last time I saw John he told me to go to hell. Jesus, John...he’s going to kill Sherlock.” He saw the twitch, “If you tell me John knew about this from the start and I didn’t I’m going to hit you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, I don’t want to get hit. Recent events have showed that John’s known all along but Sherlock didn’t know...neither did I. John cornered Sherlock at the cemetery and broke his nose.” Mycroft was still miffed about John having been able to keep his hunter abilities from him.

“Just so long as John figured it out on his own because I’m telling you, hearing that John would have been told and I wouldn’t would not have resulted in anything but a bad night for everyone involved.” He sighed, “Okay, it’s okay. I’ll still be a little mad for a while about it but it’s okay. Back to the main point of our discussion. You’re a vampire....why tell me now?”

Mycroft pondered on what to say before he finally decided on honesty. “Because I don’t want to lose you. Because I don’t want what we have, what I hope we have clouded by lies. I’m still me, the good and the bad and everything in between...I haven’t lied about anything other than the species I belong to.” 

“And is that all?” Greg studied him carefully, “No more sins of omission that would affect you and I?”

Damn his lover for being so bright and perceptive. How did you tell the man you loved that you would have to feed from them and bond unless you wanted to die or go crazy. He still had time until either of those things would happen though and he did not want Greg to think that he’d told him only pressure him into a bonding. “Not at the moment no.”

Greg looked exasperated, if a bit fond, “In other words, yes but you’re not ready to tell me yet. Fine, just so long as you do before it becomes a problem.”

“I will.” He wouldn’t have a choice but to tell once the time came. He wanted to ask Greg to bond with him out of love though, not necessity. Mycroft didn’t dare to make the move to touch Greg yet, he was just thankful that he hadn’t been punched or shot.

He noticed Mycroft’s reluctance to touch him and huffed in amusement before shooting a hand out, grabbing Mycroft’s tie, and pulling him in for a kiss. As his Gran used to say, start as you mean to go on. 

Moaning happily, Mycroft shifted so that he was straddling Greg, deepening the kiss and spearing his fingers through silvery hair. “I love you.”

He smoothed his hands down to rest on either side of Mycroft’s waist and his heart fluttered in his chest. That was the first time Mycroft had said the words. He angled his head to press his lips against his jaw, “I love you too cariad.”

Those words from Greg made his sluggish heart beat like it never had before. Gods if Greg only knew the power he held over him, how much Mycroft _belonged_ to him. For now he held on and did his best to show Greg through his actions.

Greg’s hands went up Mycroft’s back, pulling him closer, touching and grounding them both in an embrace as he brushed soft kisses over his lover’s face. “No matter what you do or how angry you might make me in the future, that’s not going to change baby. I’m still going to love you.”

“I’ve never said it before, not to another person. I’ve used the word of course, like I love tea or I love Shakespeare, the work not the man, the man was a twat and he had fleas in his beard.” Mycroft was aware that he was babbling but for some horrible reason every filter seemed to fail him. “My point is that I’ve never said it before, not to my parents and not even to Sherlock. I mean it though and you are the only one I want to say the words to. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

As much as the words warmed him, he was also worried. Mycroft didn’t babble. He pressed his lips to Mycroft’s, stilling them in a long, slow, emotional kiss. He’d told his parents he loved them before of course, and his siblings, so he couldn’t offer Mycroft the exact same gift in return but he could give him one thing, “I never gave a lover those words before, not even my ex-wife,” which in hindsight should have been a very big warning sign, “but you’ve got them, you’ve got my heart Mycroft, cariad. Dw i’n dy garu di, I love you. With all my heart I love you.”

Mycroft covered Greg’s face and neck with kisses, trying his best to keep tongue over teeth and not blurting out everything that was on his mind. Apparently giving his soul to someone was a very potent truth serum. “Come to bed with me.” It wasn’t about sex though he never turned that down with Greg but this was about closeness and belonging.

Greg opened his mouth to answer in the affirmative when his stomach chose to ruin to moment for him and grumbled loudly. He dropped his head onto Mycroft’s shoulder while his shook in embarrassed laughter.

Smiling, Mycroft ran his fingers through Greg’s hair. “On second thought we should go to the kitchen and see what Hettie has created for you today. She loves feeding you.” 

Greg kissed the tip of Mycroft’s nose, “Sorry. Bed sounded good though, I suggest an immediate retreat to it once we take care of my unruly stomach.”

“Don’t apologize, you’ve worked hard all day and made you come all the way over afterwards. Of course you need to eat and I should have thought about that.” Mycroft kissed Greg again and shuffled off his lap. He was hungry too, so very hungry, especially with the taste of Greg still on his lips. He was not in any sort of danger zone though so everything was alright.

He got to his feet and snagged Mycroft’s hand as they left Mycroft’s quarters, “Speaking of food and eating, I’ve seen you eat. So now the question is, do you need to? I’m probably going to annoy you with a thousand questions by the way.” He was curious and on top of that he was a caretaker so he wanted to know about the proper care and feeding of his vampire.

“Ask away, that’s the only way to learn.” Mycroft kept his fingers laced with Greg’s as they walk. “Food doesn’t do anything for me. It’s not nutritious nor is it harmful, it tastes nice and I enjoy good food. Blood though is essential, it is our life force, what we need to survive and grow.”

“Okay so food doesn’t do anything, that go for alcohol and drugs as well? Because I remember Sherlock and the withdrawal from hell.”

“On its own it does nothing, in the bloodstream of someone drunk or high...that’s a different matter entirely as Sherlock no doubt showed you.” Mycroft gave Greg’s hand a squeeze.

Greg hummed, “Okay,” he made a bit of a logic leap, “So different people taste different to you then? I’m no doctor but I remember a little secondary school biology and blood’s affected by what people eat, how much they exercise, and health conditions so that’d affect the taste right?”

“Yes, there is a great difference in taste in how people live and what they eat. Not that it really matters these days other than with live donors. Bagged blood is like milk bought at the store, it all tastes the same. Keeps us alive but not more than that.” 

Well that answered the next question he’d had about how they got the blood they drank. Mostly bagged but sounded like some people in the know gave off the hoof. “So what can you do then? I mean I really, really doubt you can turn into a bat but if you drink human blood that means you hunt humans so you’ve got to have an advantage over us.”

Mycroft chuckled. “No shifting into a bat or any other kind of animal that I’ve heard of. No flying or turning into mist. We’re stronger, faster, built better, stronger bones and such, heightened sense of smell and great night vision...plus we’re a bitch to kill if you don’t know how. Mostly we’re predators, built to hunt and overcome our prey.”

“And live longer, Mr. I-Knew-Shakespeare-As-A-Twat.” It was spoken with pure amusement, “Is being with a human frowned on?” That was an important one to him, he needed to know in case someone poked at Mycroft the wrong way about his relationship with Greg so he could help his lover calm down or feel better.

“There are elitists in every group or species I suppose. Some will frown but only once if they want to live to frown again.” Mycroft curled his lip in disgust, he knew the views some of the vampires had, that being with a human was like being with an animal, sick and wrong but those vampires were a minority. “Hettie is very much human and there are plenty of us who chose to share our lives with a human mate.”

“That’s got to be a scary prospect though, humans have blink and you miss it lifespans by comparison.”

He shot his lover an amused look. “As I said Hetty is very much human...she was my nanny when I was nothing but a sharp-toothed tyke.”

Greg’s brows went up, “So she’s...how does that work?”

“When a vampire and their mate bond, the vampire shares his life force with his or hers chosen one, truly bind their beings together. Most often a bonding also means the turning of the mate...for security reasons, if one dies so does the other but Hetty didn’t want to lose her humanity and Thomas loves her more than anything and wouldn’t deny her anything.”

Greg could see why someone would want to stay human, sort of. It had to be a bit disconcerting to find yourself mated to a vampire and you’d probably want to keep as much the same as you could. The cop in him was nattering on about the advantages of better senses and strength though. He was getting a clear picture of the ‘not truly immortal’ bit too. “So the murders last year, the victims were all vampires. Who was the killer?”

“One of the hunter clans, the Bartons this time. For them a vampire is to be killed on sight, in their eyes an innocent vampire does not exist, not even children.” Mycroft’s voice was bitter, it had hurt losing so many vampires to the Bartons and the children had hurt most, children were rare and precious. “Once the hunters were a necessity, I can admit that but we’ve evolved, they haven’t...Well except for the good doctor it seems.”

“The hell? Not only are vampire hunters an actual thing, _John’s_ one?” Greg almost stumbled hearing that, “And please tell me those Barton bastards aren’t a threat anymore.” Preferably they were six feet under or feeding deep sea scavengers but he wasn’t going to voice that.

“The Barton clan will not hurt anyone again.” It was said with finality. “And yes, John is a hunter, he’s been living under my nose for years and I didn’t know...Better still though, _Sherlock_ didn’t know.” Mycroft grinned. That John had been able to keep it from Sherlock as well was the only thing that made it bearable for Mycroft.

Greg snickered, “Oh I bet that burned his pants the little arsewart.”

“I think it stung more than the broken nose.” They wandered into the kitchen. “They are both staying here for the moment so later on you can see Sherlock if you want, give him a piece of your mind....Though don’t be too hard on him, you are one of the few people he truly cares about and my brother is...fragile right now.”

“I’ve abused the wall and furniture, I’ve gotten it out of my system. What’s happened with him?” Even knowing that Sherlock was probably centuries older than he was, he still thought of him as a sort of adopted son so if something was wrong, he wanted to know.

“I’m sorry Greg but I can’t talk to you about it, Sherlock is already extremely annoyed with me at the moment. I’m just hoping that Dr. Watson will be the one to put things right...I’m placing my faith with him.” Mycroft’s tone was serious.

“Mikey, Gregory. Welcome to my kitchen.” Hetty hurried over and kissed both their cheeks, pinching Mycroft’s cheek gently. “Sit, sit, food will be over in a second.”

Greg chuckled warmly and gave her a hug, “For a lady who was Mycroft’s nanny you look very, very good for your age Ms. Hettie.”

She turned a speculative eye on Mycroft. “So you finally told your man here, about time.” Hettie hugged Greg back. “A woman never speak about her age but rest assured I’m not too old to turn you over my knee if you mention my age again, compliment or not.” She patted him on the back and guided him toward the table.

“Just some tea for me please Hettie.” Mycroft sat down and ignored his ex-nanny’s worried glance.

Greg settled down and studied his lover. He’d be asking some more questions about that look later, when they were in private. “Alright, vampires and vampire hunters, anything else I should know about?”

“You mean besides witches, warlocks, dryads, shifters, oracles and everything else that goes bump in the night? Nah I think you’ve got everything pretty much covered.” Mycroft grinned at him until Hettie slapped the back of his head and placed Greg’s food and Mycroft’s tea in front of them. “Don’t you tease the boy Mikey, or I’ll tell him all about the time I told you about the tooth fairy.”

Greg’s lips twitched and he hid it by taking a drink of water. “So if I’ve read about it in classic mythology, it’s probably out there then. Good to know.” He wondered about that story though and pondered how he could get Hettie to tell him anyway.

“There’s plenty more in this world that’s noticed at first glance and that is the way most of us non humans want it.” Mycroft did ease up on the teasing though, he knew Hettie well enough to know she would have no problem following through on her threat and that was one story he didn’t want told. 

“Well so long as no one’s leaving behind corpses then I’m not going to worry. Hettie it looks delicious, as always,” he speared a ravioli with a fork and popped it in his mouth, an expression of pure enjoyment crossing his face. He had to remind himself to eat slowly after his day of one chip butty and more coffee than was strictly healthy. 

“You should move in Gregory, that would save you all those awful commutes and I would cook for you everyday.” Hettie beamed at him from where she was puttering about the kitchen.

If Mycroft could have blushed he would have. “Hettie...”

“Don’t Hettie me Mikey, it’s what you want and it is the sensible thing as well.”

“Hettie you’re wonderful, but let’s let Mycroft ask me in his own time hm?” Greg gave her a smile and forked up more ravioli. If Mycroft asked, if he ever decided he wanted to and was ready, Greg would move in with him in a heartbeat.

“Waiting for Mikey to get his arse out of the cart when it doesn’t have to do with the council or country is like watching toenails grow.” She wiped her hands on her apron.

“Thank you Hettie, kind and considerate as always.” Mycroft sipped his tea. “Now go spend some time with that husband of yours before he comes looking.”

Hettie made a face but left the kitchen after making sure everything was in order.

Greg was just grinning at his lover, “You know I really, really enjoy seeing you mothered. It’s cute.”

“Yes because cute is what every man goes for, especially after having confessed their undying love earlier.” Mycroft took another sip of tea. “She’s not wrong though, she rarely is. I would love to have you move in here with me...Not until this Moriarty mess is solved though, there is still a gun pointed at you.” A fact that made Mycroft almost livid with urge to protect his mate, to keep him safe.

“Oh yippie. How fast can we get it unpointed at me? I never have liked being on the wrong end of a gun.”

“We’re working on it, John was out interviewing some people close to Carl Powers earlier today. It appears Moriarty had or has a younger brother who is very protective of. A younger brother named James Murray.” Mycroft placed his teacup on its saucer. “We need to find out if Moriarty is alive or not, it’s difficult to move forward until we know that.”

“The fucker might still be alive? Is he a...how’d you put it...a non-human?” Greg’s brows were drawn together in consternation.

“No, just a psychotic, evil son of a bitch smart enough to calculate how to shoot himself in the head and survive.” Mycroft’s voice was cold, he couldn’t forget or forgive how Moriarty had played him. “As far as we know Moriarty doesn’t know about vampires, or at least not that Sherlock is one. He would have made him do something worse than jump if he’d known.”

“Bastard...wait James Murray?” He closed his eyes and tilted his head trying to remember, “That name was in the file, during the bombing cases when we were trying to find who could have killed Powers. Passed him over due to a bloody good alibi, hospital, massive epileptic seizure the week before. Had him laid up for three weeks according to the file.”

Mycroft tapped his fingers against the table top. “If Powers bullying had something to do with James Murray getting that seizure, even by accident then I can guarantee that Moriarty would make him pay.” He jotted down this information in his mind to make sure it would be properly investigated later on.

“You’ll have to get someone to ask him then,” Greg opened his eyes and drank some more water, “He’s a professor at King’s, teaches mathematics.”

“King’s College?” That was a surprise to Mycroft and to be quite honest he was getting sick and tired of surprises now. “I’ll have to send in my sources then, unless Sherlock wants John to do it, he can be so stubborn you know.” He exchanged a look of camaraderie with Greg.

“Oh yeah, as a bloody mule.” He reached across and trailed his fingers over Mycroft’s jaw, “Even you can’t know everything cariad, and there’s bound to be a few more unpleasant surprises before this whole mess is settled. Have to be considering the nasty bastard that started it all.”

“I am supposed to know everything, that’s why I have the position I have. If words gets out there are plenty of people with eyes on my spot.” Mycroft wasn’t complaining, he knew how to hold his own. He was only telling his lover a bit about vampire politics, expect a knife to the back at any time.

“Much as I hate thinking about anyone coming after you, they’d be very, very stupid to. The way you move sometimes,” one corner of his mouth kicked up, “usually when you’re angry, it’s like watching a leopard stalk along a branch and get ready to drop down on unsuspecting prey. Not to mention any moron would have to get through your security detail first.”

"Oh I'm not planning on surrendering my place at the top without one hell of a fight. Just telling you what's what." Mycroft smiled at Greg.

“Alright then,” Greg enjoyed seeing Mycroft’s smile, even when it was the shark smirk. “Sherlock probably won’t want John going to speak to Murray though. Not if he thinks Moriarty’ll have someone watching his brother.”

“My brother’s courting of his doctor is a strange one indeed, for the both of them. They need to be knocked up and woken in a tiny place sance clothing.” Mycroft heaved a heavy sigh. “You are right though, Sherlock won’t let John go. Luckily I have plenty of people in my employ that Moríarty shouldn’t be aware of.”

“They’ll stop dancing round each other eventually, that or drive you to be the one knocking them out and dumping them somewhere.” Greg chuckled because he imagined that was how it would play out sooner rather than later.

“If I do then you’ll get to help me carry the bodies.” Mycroft’s smile was lighter now, though he wished Greg would hurry up and finish his mean. After telling Greg his secrets he was still somewhat needy and he would really like to hold his lover close.

“Mycroft, I would help you hide the bodies if you wound up killing someone.” He meant it. Maybe not with a smile on his face but he would do it. He forked up his last bite of ravioli and made quick work of chewing and swallowing, having seen the look flicker through his lover’s eyes.

“I know you would...I would too you know. Any problem that hurt you and I would make it disappear before you even asked me to.” Mycroft was aware that sounded stalkerish and slightly creepy but that was how it was. Greg was his mate and Mycroft would always look out for him any way he could.

Greg got to his feet and held out his hand, “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Mycroft didn’t hesitate to take Greg’s hand and twine their fingers together as got up from his own seat. He was very much for the going to bed idea.

He pulled Mycroft closer and headed back to his quarters. After they’d passed the third person who’s eyes had nearly popped out of their head he looked over at his lover in amusement, “Am I ruining your reputation?”

Mycroft snorted. “Hardly, they are probably jealous, if I hear anything other than that they will soon find themselves lacking phalanges needed to hold hands.” There were considerably fewer people watching them after that.

Greg just grinned, “God I love you.” He waited until they were back in Mycroft’s quarters to kiss him though. No need to murder his lover’s reputation as an evil iceman more in one evening than he already had.

“I love you too, now that I’ve said it, I’m not able to stop. I love you Gregory Lestrade.” Mycroft slowly moved them both toward the bedroom but he was constantly distracted along the way by kisses and touched and too, too many clothes in the way of him being able to run his hands over Greg’s skin.

The DI just shrugged out of his jacket then pulled his shirt off over his head. He’d long since been aware of Mycroft’s need for skin to skin contact, whether it was sex or not, and he was happy to fulfill it. He stroked his hand over Mycroft’s cheek and ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as he let Mycroft walk him back to the bedroom.

Mycroft pushed him backwards until Greg’s knees hit the high rim of Mycroft’s giant bed. He took very good care unfastening and pulling off Greg’s trousers and pants and then he went down on his knees and did the same for Greg’s socks. Folding them neatly and placing them next to the bed. Tonight was not about sex, Mycroft wasn’t sure he could handle sex without biting right now so all he wanted to do was hold Greg without any hindrance between them.

He watched Mycroft strip down, scooted onto the bed, and held out one arm. “Come here baby.” He drew the vampire against him when Mycroft crawled up onto the bed, wrapped his arms around his lover tight so they were well and truly plastered against each other.

Mycroft arranged it so that they were entwined as could be. He pulled Greg completely on top of him, it made Mycroft feel safe, made him feel at home.

Greg kissed the hollow under Mycroft’s ear and nuzzled the lobe tenderly as his fingers wiggled lazily against the skin of his lover’s waist and shoulder. Pressed against him like this, and having seen him naked, it dawned on Greg that Mycroft had lost weight, a little too much for his tastes. “You’re not dieting again are you?”

Mycroft hummed into the touches and thought about what to say, he couldn’t lie to Greg but he didn’t want to tell him the truth either, not yet, not when things were good between them. He ran his hands up and down Greg’s back. “After everything you’ve learnt tonight, you’re actually asking if I’m dieting?”

“You’ve lost weight,” his fingers ran over Mycroft’s ribs, “So either you’re dieting or just not eating.”

“It’s nothing Greg, as you can see I’m still here and still healthy.” He rubbed his nose in the hollow behind Greg’s back and continued to caress Greg’s back.

He knew a conversational brick wall when he heard one so he just continued his gentle touches, “Alright I’ll drop it for now but if you lose too much weight we’re going to revisit the conversation baby.”

“Mmmm, kay.” Once Greg dropped the weight conversation, Mycroft turned into warm, pliable goo underneath his lover.

Greg just smiled and settled into content quiet with his lover. He wondered what Mycroft would do if he ever told him he was like a very cuddly kitten when he was practically melted beneath him. He probably didn’t really want to know truth be told. He pressed a kiss to one of Mycroft’s shoulders and closed his eyes. He knew he’d be dropping off into sleep quickly, a long tedious day made for intense exhaustion. No wonder Sherlock was always so pissy. He hoped he’d manage to catch the bloody git before he had to leave for work but if he didn’t he’d snag him eventually and tell him exactly how big of a little bastard he was before hugging him to death.

_**To be continued…** _


	7. Part Seven

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter, Irene Adler, John’s jealous and the boys continue to be emotionally constipated idiots._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Seven._ **

“Did she return to the country just for this or did she never really leave?” John didn’t know the politics or habits of succubi, all he knew was that Irene Adler was a queen bitch and he was not looking forward to meeting her again. At least this time he wouldn’t have to keep a lid on his hunter powers, small favors. 

John maneuvered the sleek car with its tinted windows through the streets at Sherlock’s instructions, the vampire sitting in the seat next to him.

“I believe she was in Ireland, attempting to seduce one of Dagda’s sons. Left here,” Sherlock drummed his fingers, face set in irritable lines. He was no more pleased to need The Woman’s assistance than John was over having see her, especially not at the moment with everything   
so...raw.

“Ireland just keeps dropping in appeal for me, thank goodness for Kieran.” John turned left onto a street filled with nearly palace like buildings; of course Irene wouldn’t be in a hotel or normal flats. 

“Hm. The restaurant is at the end of this block.” He’d poked and prodded and annoyed the living daylights out of John to wear something more suited to a five star restaurant but he hadn’t wanted the maître-d to try and force John back out. He didn’t want to be separated from the hunter for an instant. He felt ridiculous about it but he was almost afraid. He knew he could protect himself against a physical attack but his emotional shields were still damaged right now and that was the biggest danger.

He pulled up outside the restaurant and prodded Sherlock to leave the car so he could hand the keys over to the valet. Sherlock was of course looking absolutely beautiful in his dark suit and silk shirt. John felt like a clown in his suit but he had promised Sherlock to stay with him and he would have done it either way. John was determined to Show Sherlock that he would never leave, always be there and that Sherlock was loved. “The Crimson Bite, fitting name.” He gave Sherlock an amused glance. 

“It caters to select clientele,” he smirked, “Mostly vampires but they’re set for any non-humans.” he lead the way inside and went up to the maitre’d speaking to him in French and getting some bowing and scraping before they were directed back toward a private dining room.

It was like being back in Afghanistan, walking behind enemy lines. John could feel the looks drilling into his back as they walked through the restaurant. He had a feeling most patrons there would rather slit his throat then let him walk away. It only made his heart beat faster and put a slight bounce in his step. And entering the private dining room, there she was, looking every inch the queen and John felt his hackles rise. 

Sherlock had the satisfaction of seeing the anticipation and confidence she was exuding slip just a hair upon spotting John. He also noticed a very swift close down of succubi pheromones and feelers. She’d been more than ready to latch on and suck whatever she could out of him tonight. 

“Oh I wasn’t aware we’d be having another party. Hello Dr. Watson.” Irene covered her fear well, though her heart was beating out a Latin rhythm in her chest. She was not, despite popular belief, a royal succubus or even a noble one. She was simply a very talented common succubus, a hunter; especially one of John Watson’s caliber would make mincemeat out of her in seconds.

“Miss. Adler,” John bowed his head slightly at her before walking to the table. John held out a chair for Sherlock, partly because he wanted to, wanted to take care of Sherlock and partly because he knew it would throw Irene off. “I must admit it’s a surprise to see you again. You’re looking lovely as always.” John sniffed the air. “Trying on a new perfume? I must admit it doesn’t agree with me, I find it stifling and overwhelming...You should be careful with it.” He met her eyes.

Sherlock slid a look over at John but sat regardless. Not only would it make Adler think twice about trying to feed on even his ambient energy but it would keep her manipulations at bay. He’d never seen nor felt a succubus cut off every last bit of what made her more than human faster than Adler did in that moment. “Indeed you should be Miss Adler. I’m afraid we’re here on business.”

She sat down in her own chair, poised to take literal flight if Dr. Watson twitched in her direction. “Are you Mr. Holmes. Well, I fail to see what sort of business you might be summoning me to engage in with you. It appears you have my niche well in hand.”

“James Moriarty. What do you know?”

“He blew his brains out of course. Everyone in the Underground knows that.”

“True, we’re not doubting the bullet in the skull part, after all Sherlock was an eyewitness to that happening.” John kept his voice low and pleasant, he didn’t have a reason to raise it and sometimes kindness made more of an impact that threats, do he would love to really threaten Irene Adler. “It’s the dying part we’re questioning and since you were his pocketed succubi you would know where he would go to heal and what his plans really were.” 

John leaned forward, elbows on the pristine white linen tablecloth. “How about James Murray, what can you tell us about him?”

She leaned back, managing to make it look casual rather than the attempt to get further away from him that it was. “I know that you don’t want to go anywhere near him. Jimmy set up a lot of protections for his dear little brother, not all of them human.”

Sherlock tilted his head, “He was aware of the Underground?”

“Very. He had a couple of shifters in his direct employ but he did a great deal of outsourcing. Witches, warlocks, junkie vamps, Unseelie, if it has a dark side, Jim had one do a job at some point.”

John didn’t get it, the Underground wasn’t all that eager to work for a human and money usually didn’t matter all that much for them so why were they working for Moriarty? “Why would they work for him? Why would you? You have money and power, working with Moriarty did nothing good for you...Just put you on my radar.” He gave the succubi a slow smile.

Her hand, curled around a wine glass, clenched a bit before she tsked, “Really now Dr. Watson. It’s simple. Mr. Holmes has already figured it out after all.” 

“Well Sherlock’s always been the brains. I’m more than happy being the strength protecting that brain. Besides I asked you, I’m sure Sherlock will tell me later.” John kept his voice even and his body language relaxed.

Sherlock reached over and squeezed John’s knee as Adler’s jaw set. He didn’t want her refusing to help and just leaving out of intimidation. “Moriarty’s safehouse. Where is it?”

“Call off the guard dog and I’ll tell you.” She took a sip of her wine.

“Miss. Adler, I’m as off as I can get. If I was out to get you...believe me you would know it.” John smiled again. “I’m just here with my Sherlock, enjoying a drink with a beautiful woman.” 

“And the entire Underground knows how well a Watson handles their drink.” She jerked in surprise when it was Sherlock who responded to that, with a dark hiss and clear display of fangs.

“No. Games. Unless you’d like me to arrange for my brother to speak to Lilith about you.”

John sent Sherlock a look from the corner of his eye and placed his hand over Sherlock’s where it rested on his knee. “I’d listen to Sherlock if I were you Miss. Adler. Mycroft is really not happy with you and Lilith and he do have monthly meetings, the only reason you haven’t been up for discussion yet is Sherlock, you owe your life to him and you know it.”

Her lips compressed into a thin line, “Jim had, has, a lot of safe houses. The closest is near Stonehenge.”

“Thank you, see that wasn’t so hard was it and doesn’t it feel good doing the right thing? You’ll be wearing a cape of justice before long.” John couldn’t even pretend to be polite to the succubi in front of him any longer. He didn’t like her, never would. 

“Go to hell Dr. Watson. You may not like the way I live my life but you’ve no right to judge it considering how you handle your own.” She had one particularly excellent talent and that was speed, she was out of her chair and at the open window in a blink, “In a relationship with a vampire so emotionally damaged that the right flick in the right place will bring him crashing down and take you with him? You’re a fool. People as broken as Sherlock Holmes aren’t fit for anything but to be used, they certainly aren’t fit to be loved.” That said she was gone, flying out the window and into the night. Leaving behind a larger tear in Sherlock’s armor.

“Bitch!” John’s voice was filled with loathing and he wished he could have gotten his hands on her and snapped that slender little neck. No one had a right to talk about Sherlock that way, no one. He kept his hand on top of Sherlock’s, he wouldn’t allow the other to pull away. “She’ll get what’s coming to her and you’ll still be brilliant long after she’s gone.” 

But brilliance was not stability. He hated it but Adler was right. He wasn’t fit to be loved and would only bring John down with him when he finally collapsed in on himself. It was a measure of how selfish he was that he didn’t push John away. “I don’t doubt that she’ll soon find herself in mortal peril. She’s not particularly powerful among her kind, especially not now.”

“Sherlock...” John’s voice lowered and he turned to catch the vampire’s eye. “I’m here because I want to be. I choose to be by your side and trust you with everything I am because I know how incredible you are, not only brilliant but amazing and kind as well. That’s why I’m here with you, why I’ll always be with you...I choose to be.”

Sherlock was saved from answering by his phone chiming, a demand from his brother for an update. For once he wasn’t irritated because he had no idea how he could have or should have answered John’s statement. 

‘Look for a place near the Stonehenge vortex you fat bastard.’

‘On it, Moriarty knows the Stonehenge clouds our instincts, damn rat. Also, Greg didn’t shoot me. -M’

‘Does he know about bloodbonding yet?’

‘Are you ready to tell John everything? - M’

‘Piss. Off. And there is still time for Lestrade to shoot you.’ He put his phone away, bad temper written on his face. He’d like to go down to St. Bart’s morgue and pick up a body part or two to experiment on so he could put everything else aside for a time. “I suppose we’d best be getting back.”

“I suppose so.” John fished out his wallet and paid for the wine. There wasn’t much to say right now but he was glad he had said what he had. He meant it, every word and he would continue to tell Sherlock until he believed it. 

Back in the car Sherlock fidgeted and twitched as notes began filtering through his mind. He pulled out a pad and pen from the glove compartment and began scribbling the continued composition down. His fingers nearly itched to get to his violin and just get all of this out, get it into the air and out of his head, heart, and soul so it didn’t have to hurt as much.

John drove them back to Mycroft’s compound quickly. He didn’t believe anyone could see Sherlock through the tinted windows but there was no need taking chances. Driving into the underground garage he returned the car to Thomas and planned to go through some medical journals or spending his evening watching garbage telly.

Sherlock was out of the car as soon as the engine had been turned off and, with a short wave at Thomas and a barely there, selfish touch on John’s arm, he was off and rushing to the suite and his violin. A music stand had been delivered and he put the Taedia composition up, tucking his violin under his chin and immediately beginning to work through the notes echoing in his mind.

After having changed out of the dreaded suit in the bathroom, John walked out and sat down on the couch with a few medical journals in his lap. As always Sherlock’s playing was beautiful but there was something haunting and painful in his notes this time and it made John’s heart clench. Gods he wanted to make it better for Sherlock but he still didn’t know how. For now he hoped that him being there would help, at least some.

Slow, bleeding notes were nearly wrenched from his fingers but soon gave way to a frantic, panic of notes, an outrunning of demons, that fell into a spiral of dark, low tones, loneliness and guilt. By the time he’d played out the new pieces of Taedia that had been born in his mind during the ride here, he was breathing hard and his hands were actually shaking.

John put away the journals and watched Sherlock with furrowed brow. He got off the couch and walked over to where Sherlock was playing, standing behind him and wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s too slender waist and resting his forehead between Sherlock’s shoulder blades.

He jolted, not expecting contact at all, but didn’t try to pull away. “John?”

“Just let me hold you, please.” John didn’t move, just kept his arms around him and his brow resting against his back.

Sherlock closed his eyes, hands carefully setting his violin and bow down before marking the new part then he stood quiescent in the circle of John’s arms. John had never held him before, the night they’d been reunited he’d held John, so this was something different. When was the last time he’d ever been held? When Lestrade was helping him through the withdrawal? He’d not exactly been coherent then. What was he supposed to do when someone held him?

John could feel how tense Sherlock was, like the string of his bow. “It’s okay Sherlock; you don’t have to do anything.” He squeezed his arms a little around Sherlock’s waist and shifted so his cheek was resting against the taller man’s back. He pressed himself against Sherlock, trying to give him warmth, comfort and security as best he could.

Slowly, very, very slowly, the shaking of his hands stilled and he relaxed. The music had provided the catharsis he’d needed but had left him vulnerable and open. John guarded his back, as he always did. It made him want to cry, something he’d not done since Mycroft had refused to take him with him upon assumption of the title of Master Vampire. He wouldn’t, he’d kept himself from tears for centuries and he wasn’t going to change that now even if he knew John wouldn’t turn his back on him and leave if he did.

John didn’t know how long he stood there, time didn’t matter. He just held on to Sherlock, holding on and keeping him safe for as long as Sherlock would allow it. This was all about Sherlock, all about making him see that John wasn’t going anywhere, he would always be there no matter what and he would always, always love Sherlock, just for who he was.

It’s comfort and a feeling of _home_ just being held like this by John. It stills something in him, in his chaotic mind and even more chaotic heart. He’s not thinking at the moment nor is he drowning in emotions he’d tried for centuries to make believe he didn’t have. For now, for a moment, he just _is_.

Of course it doesn’t last, that’s why they’re called moments, because they end. And this one ended with a knock on the door.

With a deep sigh and a sudden urge to hurt whomever was on the other side of the door severely, John reluctantly let go of Sherlock and walked across the room to open the door.

“Evening John.” Greg stood casually in front of the army doctor, as if he hadn’t been dealt a bleeding lip the last time he’d seen him.

Okay so he couldn’t hurt Greg, not again, no matter how much he wanted to. He still hadn’t forgiven the other man for losing faith in Sherlock, for not sticking up for him when it mattered the most. John grunted at Greg in greeting and held the door open for him walking back to his medical journals without a word.

Sherlock looked over at the DI as he approached, “Lestrade.”

“Sherlock. You look decent for someone we buried.”

“Is this an attempt at a guilt trip Detective Inspector?”

“Maybe,” Greg paused a beat or two then pulled Sherlock into a hug, “Crazy arse bastard. Do not do something like this again.”

Sherlock was frozen, completely uncomprehending. The ‘insults’ didn’t sting because of the _affection_ that was almost tangible in them. “I do not intend to.” He stepped back, relieved when Lestrade didn’t hold tight and let him. “Thank you, for the call.”

Greg shrugged, “You didn’t take the bloody hint and go out for dinner though did you.” It was pure exasperation, “Stubborn, always breaking the rules.”

“It was an exceptional situation. Otherwise there would have been no need to break the rules.”

John listened to the two men talk but he stayed silent. He was glad that Sherlock had Greg, that Greg had taken care of Sherlock over the years but he still felt like being pissy so he was.

“Mycroft tell you about James Murray?”

“What, King’s College?” Sherlock gave a quirk of his head.

“Yeah.”

“Of course he did. We decided it was more logical for one of his minions to interview him. However that may need to be postponed considering...”

“Considering what?”

“A source, informed us that Moriarty had other non-humans working with him and that there are numerous protections on his brother.”

“Shifters among other non-humans.” So much for John staying quiet. “Even a minion should move with caution, if someone should interview Jamie Murray it should be a hunter, meaning it should be me, since I’m here and available and you might find another quite hard to persuade to work for you....Well give my sister enough booze and she’ll do anything but that’s beside the point.”

“Bad idea,” Greg shook his head, “Whoever’s on guard duty of Murray is probably on the lookout for you John. You’d be caught and abducted to God knows where before you can say Bob’s your Uncle and really, can we not have you kidnapped? Bad things tend to happen.”

“Frankly Greg, I don’t give shite what you think. You have no idea what I’m capable of and I really don’t think you want to know.” John stayed on the couch but there was a bite in his voice. 

The DI shrugged, catching sight of Sherlock’s shoulders starting to tense, “Do as you like, I reserve the right to say I told you so. I’ll see you later Sherlock, I’ve got a night shift.” He waved and left the suite to the silence of those inside it.

John looked at the closed door and then at Sherlock. “You know I’m right even if you don’t agree with me you know I’m right. They may be looking out for me but they won’t know what I can do. It’s the logical course of action, logic you’ve taught me.”

“We don’t know if they’re aware of your abilities or not.” It wasn’t an argument, simply a statement of fact as he made his way to sit in a chair by the window. “The Woman knew of your family she may have shared that information. Again, too many unclear variables.” He brought his hands up in their steeple formation, “I don’t know if we even need to speak with the brother anymore. The Woman gave up a safe house.”

Picking at his nails, John looked up at Sherlock. “I just want you to be able to stop hiding. You hate it, you hate everything about it and you shouldn’t have to do it. It’s bloody wrong and if I can do something to help than I will, regardless of what anyone tells me.” 

“My freedom is not worth your life John. I would greatly prefer if we face a minimal about of damage.”

“I want minimal damage too but don’t you see?” John kept Sherlock’s gaze. “To me, your freedom and happiness is worth everything.” After his conversation with Thomas, John was done hiding; he wanted Sherlock to know just how he felt about him.

What Sherlock heard in John’s tone made his heart stutter then start beating faster and he jerked to his feet, “I’m going to get something from the kitchen. We didn’t eat at the restaurant.” He was out the door before John would have had time to process what he’d said. He couldn’t. He was beginning to suspect that John might feel more for him than friendship but he couldn’t let him. If he kept John from saying it out loud they could ignore it, brush it under the rug, and nothing would have to change. He couldn’t let John admit what he was feeling out loud to him. He couldn’t saddle John with what he was. He was poison and the last thing he wanted was to be the poison that killed John.

John fell backwards on the couch with vibrant curses. What the fuck was he going to do to make Sherlock see that he was serious, to make Sherlock stop running?

Hettie took one look at him as he entered the kitchen and pulled him into a chair and going after a chilled bag of blood. She placed it in front of him and pressed a kiss to his curly hair. “Oh dear boy, what am I going to do with you? Come on, tell Hettie everything.”

He bit into the corner of the bag, “It’s nothing that won’t sort itself out given time.” In time John would forget about feelings for him and find one of those insipid girlfriends who could put up with him taking so much of John’s time. In time John would settle down and have a family of little hunter children with blond hair and their mother’s eyes and it would rip Sherlock apart even as he went through the motions of being happy for John. But it was better that way, safer for John.

Hettie looked at him with knowing eyes and sat down at the other side of the table. Sherlock hadn’t spoken out loud but he didn’t need to, Hettie had known him since he was born. “What if he does then Sherlock? What if he does get tired of waiting and trying and settles? What if there’s an accident, anything can happen you know. John could die without ever knowing that you love him back.”

His hand shook on the bag, “Better for him not to know. The people I love get only death and pain by caring for me Hettie.” That was truth, even Thomas and Hettie had suffered when the former council leader had taken exception to a teenage Sherlock airing his dirty laundry. They’d protected him, and lost the chance for a child in the process. “If I were less selfish I’d leave altogether.”

“Do that and I will hunt you down and rip your ears off.” Hettie’s eyes flashed. “There are no guarantees in life Sherlock, not even ones as long as ours. This death and pain thing is pure bullshit. I’m a better person for loving you, so is Thomas and Mycroft...though he has issues of his own. You take what you are given and you hold on to it with both hands for as long as you can. Do you know why Thomas and I haven’t bloodbonded fully? It’s because I’m still afraid that he’s going to wake up one day and realize he’s settled, that he could have so much more. I know he’s worth more than me but that won’t keep me away from him, won’t keep me from loving him for as long as he’ll let me. Don’t ruin your life Sherlock, please don’t.”

He shook his head, “You’re different Hettie. You’re normal; you understand normal emotions and the ways to talk to people. Thomas never settled when you mated and he’ll never stop loving you. I’m not normal Hettie and I never have been. I can’t be.” And he refused to ruin John’s life by trying to live his.

“Oh sweetheart, who cares about normal? You care, you feel deeper than most people and that why it’s hurting so much. I’m not as normal as you think I am. You have no idea the mess I was when my Thomas found me, what I’d been through and you won’t know because that’s between him and me but it took a lot of time, a lot of patience and love for me to trust him and love him.” Hettie looked down at the tabletop. “No one is perfect, we all have problems but everyone deserves love...You more than most and you have a good man loving you. Every time you push him away you hurt him, the it’s better for him that’s bull. It’s not only your own heart you are breaking.”

He stood up, shaking his head, “Thank you for the blood. If it’s not any trouble would you send John some dinner up?” He wasn’t going to argue with her any further but he was right and wouldn’t hear anything further. She was normal, thought normally, reacted to whatever trauma she’d had in her life normally, she felt normally and if there was one thing he had come to know from a very early age, it was that he was anything but normal. Sally Donovan was right, he was a freak, even for a vampire.

“Of course, I’m not going to let Johnny starve just because you are a stubborn git.” Hettie sighed and got up too, taking hold of Sherlock’s arm so she could pull his head down and kiss his cheek gently. “I love you Sherlock Holmes, have since the day you were born and will continue to do so until my last breath. I love you.”

He didn’t answer verbally, just squeezed her elbow gently and escaped out the kitchen door to walk around the trees on the property.

Thomas came out from where he’d hidden in the shadows and went over to his mate, wrapping his arms around her, “Silly woman.”

“You knew that when you married me. It’s a woman’s prerogative to be silly.” Hettie, placed her hands over his on her waist and leaned back against him.

He kissed the top of her head, “One day ya’re gonna wake up an’ realize that I’m no’ goin’ anywhere. I c’n wait, got eternity.” He sighed, “Himself though doesna now does he? Idiot fool.”

“I hope Dr. Watson will be able to get through to him...Lord knows I haven’t and I’ve tried for centuries. I wish we could do something...I hate our little boy hurting like this.” Hettie had long since claimed both Mycroft and Sherlock as her own. God knew that the people birthing them didn’t deserve such lovely boys. She turned in Thomas embrace and wrapped her arms around him. “I love you my Tommie, in case I haven’t told you today.”

“I love ya too my Hettie, my pretty lass,” he gave her a squeeze, “If the lad’s doctor could corner him for long enough ta talk it oot we might have some hope.”

“If that is what it takes and if Mikey doesn’t meddle soon I will lock them up myself and sit on the key until they are happily mated.” There was a tone of stubborn steel in her voice.

“Aye tha’s my Steel Rose.” He kissed her ear.

She kissed him back, making things a little more heated before wiggling out of his hold. “As much as I love a good snog with my handsome highlander I have a hunter doctor to feed.”

“I’ll just hold the rest for ya til bedtime then.” He tugged gently on a lock of her hair. 

“You do that love.” She beamed at him and ran her fingertips over his cheek. “One stubborn boy not thinking he deserves love and one who’s starving himself, whatever are we going to do?”

“Be sneaky,” he winked at her, “Speakin of our starvin lad, I’d best be givin’ him tha report on tha auto tune ups. Mayhap scold him a bit.”

“Good man, meet you in our quarters later.” She gave him another quick peck before going to prepare a tray of food for Dr. Watson.

_**To be continued…** _


	8. Part Eight

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter, hurt Sherlock with a slight case of verbal diarrhea, more Mystrade and BAMF!John._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Eight._ **

Greg was driving back in just as sunrise was painting the sky in glorious colors and had to hit his brakes when Sherlock stumbled across the driveway. “Fuck!” He was out of the car as fast as possible, “Sherlock what the bloody hell?!” His jaw dropped at the sight of Sherlock’s right side bleeding and torn, “What the fuck have you done to yourself you idiot?”

Sherlock swayed on his feet, barely grunting when Lestrade caught him and looped his arm over his shoulders, “I didn’t do this to myself Lestrade, John would shoot me if I did.”

“Fine then what in the bleeding hell happened?”

“Hellhound.”

“.....a hellhound.”

“Mmm, certain little succubus’ pet. Sent to teach me a lesson for not playing nice. Stupid, wasn’t paying attention, got caught by surprise before I killed it.”

“And why weren’t you paying attention, Christ Mycroft is going to have a fit.”

“Ev’ryone says I should let m’self be happy. No one sees that I c’nt.”

“Why not?” Greg just bent and took Sherlock up in a fireman’s carry, slurring meant too much bloodloss.

“‘M a freak, broken an’ pois’nus. I hurt people ev’n when ‘m tryin to ‘tect them.”

“So you think you’re going to hurt John then, worse than breaking his heart.”

“Yeah, y’ get it ‘strade?”

“I get that you’re a fool and a few other things beside. Yeah maybe you’re a bit of a freak but you’re not poisonous. I’m still around aren’t I?”

“Why?”

“Hm?” He breathed a sigh of relief seeing the house looming before them.

“Why ‘r you still ‘round?”

“Well you’re mine aren’t you?”

“Yours?”

“You’re one of my boys Sherlock, bloody hell you’re the closest thing to a son I’ve got. Sure you drive me bonkers from time to time and maybe you are a little bit of a freak but you’re my freak and I’m proud of you. Of what you can do, of who you are, and of how far you’ve come from that junkie throwing up on my ratty couch. I love you just the way you are Sherlock. And let me tell you, John’s just as arse over tits for you as you are for him, as I am for Mycroft. Coming from an everyman loving a genius, I’d rather have a few hours and days of amazing and wonderful filled with love and color than a long lifetime living in the boring gray.” He burst into the house and started carrying Sherlock to the suite he was sharing with John while yelling for blood to be delivered to the suite.

“John ‘serves better.”

“Maybe, maybe not but you’re being unfair and it’s not good making that decision for him you miserable sack.” He kicked in the suite door, not really having the patience to knock, Mycroft could bitch at him about the damage to the frame later, “John get your kit, you’ve got an idiot to patch up!”

John shot up from where he had been dozing on the couch waiting for Sherlock with wide, wild eyes as he saw Greg carrying a bloody Sherlock inside. Despite his panic at seeing the man he loved hurt, his doctors instincts took over and he ordered Greg to place Sherlock on the couch as he rushed to grasp his bag.

"What the hell happened?" He asked as he got Sherlock's shirt off of him so he could clean and bandage the wounds. Upon hearing about the hellhound and Irene his hands clenched into fists before he forced himself to relax and continue to take care of Sherlock. The bitch had just signed her death sentence by going after Sherlock, John would have her head. He had scent-marked her at the restaurant and there wasn't a corner of the globe where she would be able to hide from him.

“Hurts,” Sherlock frowned and winced when John probed one savage gash over a rib, “My’s got s’curity holes. Needs ta fix that.”

“After this Sherlock I imagine any holes in security will be found and well and truly plugged.” Greg turned his head, cop’s instinct catching his attention before someone stepped into the doorway. One of Mycroft’s lesser minions, if he remembered right, with a cooler full of blood sneering at Sherlock and just looking generally disgusted with John and Greg. Lestrade walked over and grabbed the cooler from the vampire, raising a brow and pulling his gun when he got a hiss full of fang.

He pointed it right between the minion’s eyes, point blank range even against a vampire, “Don’t know if it would kill you or not but it damn sure would hurt plenty. Thank you for the blood now kindly fuck off before I shoot. I’m not in the mood to deal with pissy little twats thinking they’re better than everyone else.”

“Specially when iza eenshy bug. Tuh thuh brain worsh.” Sherlock’s brows furrowed and he wiggled his jaw trying to get it to work right.

John gave Greg an impressed look. “Thank you mate, I’ve been longing to do that since I set foot here.” He patched Sherlock up quickly and efficiently, wrapping his torso in clean, crisp bandages after having cleaned and disinfected the deep gashes. He reached up and caressed Sherlock’s cheek, running his fingers through the vampire’s hair gently. “You’ll feel better soon; we just have to get some blood in you.” John pulled a blood bag out of the cooler, pierced it and placed it at Sherlock’s mouth.

Mycroft showed up in the doorway, face frozen in icy rage. He ran his eyes over his little brother, making sure John had everything in hand before storming out again, someone was going to pay.

Greg tilted his head at the pissy little vampire who’d decided to show his arse, “You can go now, and really, I’d be running if I were you.” The little twat didn’t need to be told twice and left a breeze he was gone so fast. Greg reholstered his gun and turned to study Sherlock and John. Idiots, the both of them.

Before he latched on to the blood bag, Sherlock looked up at Greg, “Strade? ‘S really not good?”

He was reminded of the first case John had been a part of and nodded, “Yeah, think about it once you’ve got some blood in you. I’m going to say hello to Mycroft, I’ll check on you later.”

Sherlock made a sound of assent, “You should make My tell you bout bloodbondin,” then he finally started drinking as Lestrade left the room, careful to close the door behind him. The DI had given him something to think about.

John stayed vigilant next to Sherlock, making sure he was alright and that he was there to hand Sherlock more blood when he needed it and after all the blood he’d lost, he would need all the blood in the cooler.

Mycroft was proving just why he was the Master of Britain as he hunted down the security breaches and disposed of them himself, it really wasn’t that hard to take the head of a vampire when you knew how to do it. He was a little upset that their deaths were quick but he didn’t have the time to play.

Greg had grabbed a sandwich from Hettie and decided to wait for Mycroft in the vampire’s quarters. Of course he wound up thinking as he waited and once he’d finished the sandwich he pulled out his netbook and Googled hellhounds. No way of telling what lore was real and what wasn’t but it was a start.

It wasn’t too long before Mycroft entered his rooms, making sure his suit was impeccable, it wouldn’t do have wrinkled it performing this distasteful chore. Some of the tension in his shoulders vanished when he saw Greg and he went to sit down next to him, looking at the computer screen with a light scoff. “That’s not a hellhound.” He reached over and let his fingers fly over Greg’s keyboard. “ _That_ is a hellhound.”

“Well hello to you too, how was the purge?” He turned his head to brush a kiss over Mycroft’s jaw before looking back to the screen, “Oh now that’s uglier than my Aunt Ray in the morning.”

Mycroft turned his head so he could press his lips lightly against Greg’s. “The purge as you call it went well, all leaks are plugged.” There was a note of finality in Mycroft’s voice. “If your Aunt Ray looks anything like a hellhound I really don’t want to meet her, also as ugly as they are, they are twice as mean.”

“Aunt Ray was the root of all my childhood nightmares, nice woman really but the arse faced, face pinching, smothering type.” One hand ran down Mycroft’s arm, “So Sherlock pissed off a succubus with a hellhound...I really wish I could say I was surprised. Any idea who the hellhound’s owner was? All Sherlock told me was succubus though Jon obviously knew considering the look on his face.”

“Irene Adler, supposed to be dead succubus and queen bitch.” Mycroft couldn’t even say her name without self loathing. “I was the one putting Sherlock in her path to begin with, one of my many, many mistakes.” He looked down at his hands. “She’s a succubus for hire and back then she was living in Moriarty’s pocket. Sherlock and John went to meet her earlier and managed to get one of Moriarty’s safe houses out of her. She was not happy that Sherlock wasn’t up for being a snack...That and the fact that hunters and succubi _really_ don’t get along.”

Greg covered Mycroft’s hands with one of his, “Well she one dead succubus and I don’t think it’ll be you capping her off. Not considering the look John had.”

“John is much more dangerous than he looks, I knew that even before I knew what he was.” Mycroft turned his hand so it was resting palm against palm with Greg’s. “Adler will live to regret what she’s done...barely. John will kill her and I wish I could get a front seat to that show.”

“Probably not much of a show. John’s dangerous yeah but he doesn’t like to beat around the bush when it comes to threats. He’ll kill her quick as he can to get her out of the way...and can I tell you just how bloody weird it is to be discussing John about to commit premeditated murder.”

“Think of it as a favor to society, more extermination of a rodent than premeditated murder.” Mycroft leaned back against the pillows of the couch, days without eating was starting to take their toll, especially after having taken out several vampires...as weak and stupid as they were.

“Like to, can’t. Have you eaten today at all?”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t really want to lie, not to his chosen mate but he didn’t fancy telling the truth either. Mycroft didn’t want to admit it but he was scared to death that Greg would leave.

“Mycroft,” Greg’s free hand went gentle to stroke his lover’s hair off his brow, “you’re exhausted baby. You need energy.” Seeing Mycroft so weary scared him.

Mycroft leaned into his lover’s touch. “I promise that I’m fine, just a little tired. Completely fine though.” 

“I don’t know about that.” He continued to pet Mycroft’s hair, “By the way, Sherlock told me to ask you about something before I left him to John.”

“Hmm? Just what exactly did my little brother want you to ask me?” Mycroft couldn’t help but be slightly weary, Sherlock wasn’t happy with him at the moment so he could only imagine what he had told Greg to ask.

“He said I should make you tell me about bloodbonding,” he noticed the sudden tension gripping his lover immediately.

Little bugger, Mycroft would definitely make sure Sherlock and John got locked up together. Meddling brother. “Bloodbonding is like a marriage, only _more_ , stronger. In the vampire community it’s something holy. You bind yourself to your chosen one through body, blood and soul, share everything and become part of each others being. What one feels the other feels.” Mycroft hoped Greg would be satisfied with that answer; Mycroft didn’t have to tell him that once a vampire had chosen he could only feed off his mate, only crave that blood.

Greg narrowed his eyes. Sherlock could meddle but even out of his head the genius wouldn’t have told Greg to ask about bloodbonding if that was all there was, not to mention Mycroft was still tense. “Out with it cariad, what aren’t you telling me?”

Swallowing nervously, Mycroft met Greg’s eyes. “I have chosen you; you’re my mate, the one I wish to bloodbond with...Only problem is I can’t feed from anyone but you. Any other blood turns to ash on my tongue.” He steeled himself for Greg to recoil from him in disgust, for him to realize just what a monster he was and leave.

He froze for all of two seconds before his eyes narrowed, “That’s what you’ve been hiding...how long?”

“A couple of weeks, it’s not important, I’m fine...I don’t want to use you.” Mycroft slid his gaze away, not meeting Greg’s eyes.

“You _idiot_. You’ve been starving yourself for weeks instead of just asking me for what you need? Why?” As soon as he asked he knew the answer and made an irritated sound, “How is it that you can be so brilliant but so bloody stupid sometimes? I’m not going anywhere you tit. You could turn into a cycloptic purple furred alien on a daily basis and I’d still be yours.”

“Why?” Mycroft truly was baffled, he couldn’t figure it out. “Why stay? I just told you I’m a vampire, a monster who wants to bind your soul to mine and feed from you? You could have anyone Greg, any normal human who could give you so much more than I can. Why me when there’s so much wrong with me?” Mycroft wasn’t as insecure as Sherlock but he still didn’t get it.

“I love you. That’s all the answer there is for that. I love you. And there is _nothing_ wrong with you. I’d like to meet the people who put that notion into your head and kick their arse across England.” He traced Mycroft’s features, “You’re not a monster. I’ve seen monsters, known them, sat across from them as they’ve given detailed accounts of torturing and killing innocent people for no reason other than wanting to cause pain and every one of those monsters wears the face of a ‘normal human’. So you’re a vampire,” he shrugged, “so what? I didn’t run when you told me, and it was right after that I told you that I love you so why would this make me run?”

Mycroft didn’t have an answer for that so he settled for leaning in for a slow deep kiss. “I love you too, I love you. You are my world Gregory Lestrade...I existed all along just to be yours.” Master vampire or not, without Greg, Mycroft was nothing.

Greg returned the kiss, putting his feelings into it, every ounce of emotion he felt for Mycroft communicated between their mouths before he pulled back, kissing the tip of a pointy nose, Mycroft’s cheeks and brow. “To borrow a quote from someone much more clever with words than me, ‘In all the world there is no heart for me like yours In all the world there is no love for you like mine.’ I’m as certain as can be that I was made for you.”

Having no more words, only feelings, Mycroft leaned into Greg and allowed himself to get lost in the taste and feel of his lover, his mate...his soul.

Lestrade pulled Mycroft as close into him as he could, holding him and pressing soft nibbling kisses to his lips and jaw. “Mycroft...”

“No.” Mycroft shook his head even as he pressed even closer, nosing his way along Greg’s neck, kissing the hollow behind his ear.”

“Why the ‘no’ baby?”

“Because I love you too much.” Mycroft closed his eyes and smelled his lover’s sweet scent.

“And what’ll happen to you if you don’t? You’ve already lost weight, you’re _hurting_ yourself. Do you know how that makes me feel?” He kept his touches gentle, loving though he knew his worry was clear in his voice.

He didn’t want Greg worrying, that was the last thing he wanted. Mycroft just wanted to love him to keep him safe. He pulled back far enough so that he could look into Greg’s eyes as he caressed his cheek. “...May I?”

Greg swept his thumb over Mycroft’s bottom lip before cupping the back of his neck, “Yes.”

“I love you.” Mycroft leaned in and kissed Greg’s neck, running his tongue over the thrumming pulse. Greg smelled so good, so sweet. He cupped Greg’s cheek as he unsheathed his teeth, dragging them over smooth skin lightly before piercing it and feeling hot, spicy blood rush over his tongue.

He sucked in a sharp breath, the sharp teeth sinking into his skin had hurt, he couldn’t say anything different but then Mycroft was sucking at his throat, his tongue flicking against the punctures every so often and it felt...almost embarrassingly good. He relaxed into Mycroft, trusting him completely, his fingers carding through the vampire’s hair. He knew Mycroft and Sherlock could, and probably would, break down the surges of not-quite-lust washing through him every time he felt Mycroft suck or lick into some sort of chemical basis but he just knew it felt good and _right_.

Gods, it was better than anything Mycroft had ever tasted. He had to be careful not to take too much, it was tempting to just keep licking, keep feeding. Once he had taken his fill he carefully licked the puncture wounds closed, leaving unmarred skin behind before claiming Greg’s lips, pouring all his love into the kiss. “Thank you.”

Greg hummed contentedly into the kiss, “I’m not entirely certain that’s not my line because that felt bloody good.” The pun occurred to him after he’d said it and he couldn’t keep from snorting. “Oh that was a bad, bad unintentional pun.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I really love you, Gods I do.” He was fed and cuddly like a kitten, curling as close as he could, practically draping himself across Greg. If he could have he would have purred happily.

Greg shifted so they were laying down on the couch, Mycroft sprawled over him, and continued to fiddle with his lover’s hair. “I love you too cariad, so very much.”

Shifting so he could listen to Greg’s heart, Mycroft closed his eyes and just for now he allowed the rest of the world slip away.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock finished draining the final blood bag and just sank into the cushions of the couch, “Well. That was unpleasant.”

“Mmm, that’s one word for it I suppose.” John lifted the dressings, noticing that the wounds were healing nicely. “Feeling better?”

“Mm, not lightheaded any longer certainly, nor am I babbling.” He smirked, “Though to be a fly on the wall when Lestrade asks Mycroft about bloodbonding.”

“Definitely feeling better.” John raised an eyebrow though he was relieved and happy to see Sherlock smiling, even if it was a smirk. “Mycroft is slippery, I think he’ll explain it just fine.”

“Slippery to you and I, not to Lestrade.” He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the arm of the couch. 

“No I suppose not, he’s a DI and Mycroft’s lover.” John was sitting on the edge of the couch. “I still think Greg will handle it well, I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the one I love.”

“Of course he’ll handle it well, he’s in love with Mycroft. Practically bleeds dopamine serotonin and oxytocin from his pores after an encounter with my brother.”

“Looks like you can call him brother soon then.” John reached out and ruffled Sherlock’s hair. “You sure you’re okay? Because if you are then I need to step out for a moment, I have something to take care of.”

An almost purr slipped from him at the touch to his hair but other than that he didn’t acknowledge it. “I’m fine. Go kill her, preferably after you squeeze more safehouse locations from her but immediate death is perfectly acceptable.”

Chuckling John rose and reached for his jacket. “I suppose we’ll see what strikes my fancy when I’ve hunted her down.” He hesitated for a moment before bending down and pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. “You rest and concentrate on healing.” John hurried to leave before Sherlock could say anything.

Oh it was massively unfair of John to kiss him like that. But then according to Lestrade he was being massively unfair in a not good way to John as well. Sherlock rolled onto his side and curled into a ball to begin brooding and thinking it over.

 

~oOo~

 

Irene was no fool, as soon as her hound had taken longer than it should she’d begin packing. Unfortunately she had a great many things and her attachment to them would be what ended her.

It didn’t take John long to track her down, he was actually a little disappointed. He broke the neck of the guard watching her door, some kind of lesser demon, John didn’t take the time to check. He open the door and leaned against the jamb. “I really thought you were smarter than this...The Woman, turns out you’re really, really stupid.”

She spun, eyes wide, and immediately shifted to her complete form upon sight of him in pure defensive instinct. Succubi were seducers, not warriors, and tended toward flight over fight, however there wasn’t a window for her to fly out of in this room.

“So, you are going to die, no doubt there.” John kept his tone light friendly even as he took a step forward into the room. “The moment you decided to hurt my Sherlock you ensured that. The question is, how do you want to die? I know...drama, drama, drama, it sounds a little silly even to me but it’s the truth. It can be quick or I can really take my time...I’m a doctor remember, I can keep you alive for a really long time.”

She shook in place, eyes darting around before the mind that had pulled her out of the gutter and kept her in power amongst humankind reasserted itself over the succubi instincts. He was right. She was going to die here. But she could bargain for a swift end and assurance for the only other thing that mattered to her. “What do you want Hunter Watson?”

“Information of course Miss. Adler. You don’t have anything else to offer me.” John should probably feel bad that he was about to end a life but he didn’t. He had never claimed to be a very good person. He was protective of his loved ones though and he really did love Sherlock. 

“The safe houses. Is that all?” She concentrated to pull her claws; wings, horns, and tail back in and walked to a sideboard, pouring a very healthy glass of brandy.

“Unless you know more, then yes, the safe houses will do.” He let her drink, she was a beautiful woman but John had to admit he preferred her in her true form. He wasn’t very fond of pretense. 

“I’ll _tell_ you about the safe houses in exchange for a quick death,” she moved to a chair, sitting and crossing her legs, “I’ll give you every last byte of information I have tucked away on the locations, guard schedules, and protections of the safe houses I know about, the protections in place around James Murray, and the Underground members who freelance for Moriarty as well as those in his direct employ for a quick death and something more.” She held out a hand and murmured in ancient Sumerian, bringing an image of a cherub faced child with riotous raven curls, bright pale blue eyes, and a sweet smile into being.

John looked closely at the image of the beautiful child, the sweetness and innocence still sparking in those pale blue eyes. “Your child?”

“Yes. I’ve not seen him, in person, since his birth. I gave him to an infertile werewolf couple. He’s cambion, half human, and that, as I’m sure you are aware, is frowned upon in succubi society. His parents,” in the image a sweetfaced woman tickled the boy while a smiling man took pictures, “protect him well in case a stray succubi or incubi notices him.” She held up her phone, showing her online bank account ready to transfer all funds to another account, in John’s name, “What I want from you are four simple things, kill me in a way that it looks like a random hunter discovered me, easy enough to do considering my profession, so that my kind have no reason to go digging and find him, look in on him now and again to double check that he’s not been discovered, make certain the monthly stipends to his parents continue, and on his sixteenth birthday ensure that he gets the treasure box in the corner. It will give him everything he needs to know about the powers he’ll come into and controlling them. Give me your word that you’ll do all that and I’ll give you everything I have on Jim and his enterprises.”

“You have my word that I will do those things for you.” He met Irene’s eyes. “Werewolf parents were your best choice; he will be protected and loved for. I promise that I will protect him too, nothing will happen to your boy. I give you my word.” 

She nodded and hit the approval for the transfer before tossing her phone to him, “Most everything’s in a safe deposit box under the name of Mary Smith, the box number, codes for it, and bank it’s at are in the phone as well as anything I’ve not yet put in the box. The phone’s password is five, six, four, six.”

John nodded that he’d understood and that he would keep everything needed memorized. He was no Sherlock but he wasn’t useless with his memory either. He caught the phone and pocketed it. “Are you ready?” It was a strange question to ask someone he was just about to kill but he wanted Irene to have a chance to have everything straightened out. 

She nodded, “Don’t forget to bring the box with you when you leave. Aside from this, there’s nothing for me to sort out.” She lifted her chin, pride something she’d not shed even now, “Damiq ti Sharur.”

John nodded at her, unsheathed the smooth onyx dagger. He made quick work of it, sliding it in her heart, knowing it wouldn’t hurt. “Sleep well little sister.” John arranged her so that it would look like a passing hunter had found her and taken advantage. Then he took the box and left, he would keep his word to her but he couldn’t pretend to feel sorry that Irene Adler was gone.

_**To be continued…** _


	9. Part Nine

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This little brother Moriarty, John going off on his own and someone gets kidnapped._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Nine._ **

Sherlock carried the box John had brought with him into Mycroft’s office, lifting a brow at the older vampire’s color, “And how are you today dear brother?”

“I am close to excellent little brother. How are you though? Looking a little pale there.” Mycroft slid a curious look at the box in Sherlock’s arms. “Have you brought me a gift?”

“You may thank John for it.” He set the simple box down and flipped it open, revealing the discs inside as well as a phone, “Everything The Woman has on Moriarty and his doings.”

“Oh a gift indeed.” Mycroft’s fingers nearly twitched with eagerness to go through all the information. “I will thank John but I do believe the cause of this is you little brother. John would have left Adler alone if she had left you alone after all.”

“Hm.” Sherlock settled into a chair, “I am aware yes but there was a bit more to procuring those than John simply promising to kill her quickly rather than slow. No,” he saw Mycroft’s interested look, “John did tell me of course but no.”

“Why not?” Mycroft looked at Sherlock, a bit amused about the John told me of course comment, it told quite a lot about their relationship. “If there’s anything we can use to get ahead then we should do it.” 

“Simply no Mycroft,” he knew better than to give his brother more than that. Mycroft would string it together in seconds. “Lestrade sleeping off his late shift?”

“Yes, he should wake up soon but he’s working so hard I want him to get all the rest he can get.” Mycroft was still curious but centuries with Sherlock had taught him when not to push with Sherlock, right now he was just happy that his brother seemed to be speaking to him face to face again.

“I still think you are an utter bastard,” it was drawled casually. “rather par for the course.”

“I’m well aware Sherlock.” Mycroft didn’t change tone or expression at all. “I’m still glad to see you up and about though, have you healed fully?”

He wrinkled his nose, “No,” he sounded utterly disgusted over it too; “Bloody hound claws always take longer to heal.”

“Hm...” Mycroft rested his chin on his hands. “Maybe I should return the favor and tell John just what hunter blood can do.”

“Mycroft,” it was a warning and very clearly said ‘I’m just now getting over it, don’t make me regret it.’

He sighed softly. Of course he wouldn’t really say anything. As much as he loved teasing, Mycroft loved his little brother more, as much difficulties as he had showing it. “Just make sure you take things easy for a while. Ask Hettie to up your blood, the more you feed the quicker you’ll heal.”

“Yes Mummy,” He always did love making Mycroft pull the same face the Queen did when proclaiming her utter lack of amusement. 

“Technically if Mycroft’s Mummy that means he can take you over his knee Sherlock,” Lestrade came in, thumping Sherlock gently on the back of the head as he passed him, and sat on the corner of Mycroft’s desk, the very vivid bite mark on his neck prominent above his collar.

Mycroft’s eyes softened and he smiled at his lover, barely resisting pulling him down for a kiss in front of Sherlock. “Good morning, how are you?”

“Bright eyed and bushy tailed and full to popping, Hettie’s waffles could bring world peace.” He gave Mycroft a smile in return, “And you? I was still passed out when you got up.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at them, though an amused smile was trying to tug on the corners of his mouth.

Sending his brother a look, Mycroft gave into temptation and pulled on Greg’s tie until he could kiss him lightly. “You know me, up with the sun, much to be done.” 

“Mmm I don’t mind you know,” Greg nuzzled his nose against Mycroft’s, “And I’m glad you’re looking healthier.”

“Before things become positively revolting I do believe I will leave you to yourselves,” Sherlock stood up and swanned to the door, pausing to look back at the Detective Inspector, “Lestrade, I appreciate you not being annoying.”

Greg chuckled as Sherlock disappeared from the room.

Mycroft looked after with his brother with fondness and exasperation, he was glad that Sherlock felt as good as he did, that he was healing and that he seemed to be out if his darkest mood. “Yes, thank you very much for not being annoying, for being rather amazing actually.”

“You’ll make me blush,” he picked up one of Mycroft’s hands, “He was thanking me for advice actually.”

“I guessed either Hettie or you had managed to get through to him.” Mycroft nodded. “I should have known it’d be you, he wasn’t shooting looks of withering hatred at me so something’s changed.”

“Not all the way through, just gave him a bit to think about in the right way. He still needs to be locked in a closet with John for a while.” Greg chuckled, “Sherlock’s all about ‘good’ versus ‘not good’ when it comes to John. I reminded him that making decisions for others is ‘not good’ is all.”

Mycroft shook his head, knowing all about Sherlock’s stubbornness first hand. “I can handle the locking up in a closet if necessary, I’m just happy you talked to him and got him to see some sense.” He reached up and ran gentle fingertips over the bite mark. “You feeling alright? No pain?”

He made a soft, pleased hum, “Not a bit, not even sore.”

“Good, I’m glad...I don’t ever want to hurt you.” Mycroft cupped Greg’s neck and caressed his jawline with the pad of his thumb.

He squeezed Mycroft’s wrist, “You wouldn’t. You should have more faith in yourself Mycroft.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of Greg...Bloody hell; I don’t even know what I am capable of. I need to be careful, always. Father let go and gave in to the bloodlust, I will not have that happening to me...ever.” 

“Mycroft,” he reached out and cupped his face, “Your father was wrong to start off with. I don’t know much, admittedly, but I know a bit about how he treated Sherlock. No one in their right mind treats their kid, second born or not, like that. You’re not your father cariad and you’ll never be like him.” He kissed Mycroft’s brow, “I trust you, even if you don’t trust yourself.”

Mycroft wish he could have the faith in himself that Greg had. He would just have to work harder to be the sort of man Greg could love, that he could be proud of. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now, is there anything I can help you out with since it is, thank God, my day off?”

He knew Greg should rest and take it easy but he also knew that his lover was not the kicking his feet up and scratching his belly type. Mycroft sent the box of disks a look. “Feel like helping me sort through Moriarty’s safe houses and guard schedules? Apparently John was persuasive.”

Greg grinned like it was Christmas morning, “You bet your sexy arse I’ll help with that and gladly.” He wasn’t surprised John managed to get the safe houses and whatnot. Fluffy he might look but John was formidable.

Chuckling, Mycroft answered Greg’s grin and made room for the two of them to sit side by side at his desk as he picked up the first disk and slid it into his computer. 

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock had chosen to forgo feeding more and simply returned to his suite. John had needed to go into the clinic so it was empty and quiet and dreadfully boring even with copies of Adler’s information to pour over and fiddle with. His mind circled back to John and what Greg had said until he was drawn to his violin and the composition again. He began playing, his mind sorting through what he knew of his John and fairness and if it really wasn’t good to make the decision to keep things as friendship for John. Unconsciously new notes made their way into the music, lengthening the piece. 

These were contemplative sounds that spoke of a decision being considered, it calmed the earlier painful movements down, lent a very light bit of hope to the music. He played with those notes, over and over, for hours, letting his mind work as he waited for John’s return.

It was strange, he had only lived one half of his life for so long now that once he’d let his hunter out it was hard to push him back down again. Last night he had taken a life and today he was checking toddlers for ear infections and putting band-aids on scraped knees. John loved all sides of his life but he was a bit worried if he would be able to combine all parts of who he was or if he would have to choose somewhere along the line. 

He also couldn’t stop worrying about Sherlock, he knew the gashes the hellhound had given him was healing but Sherlock was still hurt and that was enough to make John reluctant to leave him. Once his shift was over he slowly made his way back to Mycroft’s house, taking the traveling time to think and to compose himself.

Thomas looked up from the engine he was working on when John pulled into the garage and flagged the man down, “Stop by the kitchen and get some of the blood from Hettie will you lad, she’s fretting as Sherlock’s not called for any all day.”

“Idiot, he knows he has to eat.” John furrowed his brow. “Thank you for telling me, will do.” He walked to the kitchen and took four bloodbags from a worried Hettie before stalking up the stairs to Sherlock’s rooms. 

He heard the notes of the violin before he opened the door and slipped in silently, wanting to let Sherlock finish. John toed his shoes off and placed his jacket and bag on a table before taking the blood and moving further inside the room.

Sherlock was aware of John’s entrance as soon as he’d opened the door but he waited until John was ‘comfortable’ to stop playing, the music ending on a questioning trill. 

“Can’t leave you alone even for a day can I?” John’s voice was soft and he took one of the bags and waved it in Sherlock’s face. “Hettie is beside herself because you haven’t been down to eat or sent for any blood.” 

“I’ve been thinking.” To Sherlock that was all that was needed to explain it. He didn’t eat when he was thinking and John knew that. So did Hettie actually.

“Hmm,” John walked forward and poked Sherlock in the side, giving him a look when the vampire hissed. “I usually let you do what you want when you’re thinking but you are healing and you are going to eat. Here.” He shoved the blood into Sherlock’s hand.

“Had a bad day then?” He bit into the bag before throwing himself onto the couch.

“No it was okay, busy but okay.” John walked to gather some of the medical journals he would have to go through later. He didn’t know how to explain his sense of standing with one foot in each world and besides Sherlock had enough to think about anyway. “You? Have you spent all day thinking then?”

He hummed an assent around the bag before pointing at a pad he’d scribbled some notes about Moriarty’s network and the best ways to make it implode on.

John took the pad and read the notes as he sat down in a chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “If we can find out the safe house Moriarty is at if he’s alive or at least Moran we could strike at that at the same time as Mycroft’s people hit the others at the same time. If timed right then Moriarty or his heir will have nowhere to run and no warning.”

Another assenting mumble came from Sherlock and he pointed at John before making a derisive gesture at the files the doctor had brought from the clinic. 

“Yes well, I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go now do I? Besides, I am a doctor, this is what I do.” He didn’t really know if it was Sherlock or himself he was trying to convince but John figured it was all the same. 

Sherlock made a gun gesture with his hand, then pointed at john and then at his side and made an emphatic slash with his hand.

Huffing in amused fondness, John looked at Sherlock. “Most hospitals and clinics tend to frown at battling doctors. We’re supposed to cure harm, not cause it.”

The vampire drained the bag and tossed it in the direction of the bin, “Then do freelance work for Mycroft now and then. You’re wasted treating the sniffles and whatever else you deal with at the clinic.”

John nodded toward the rest of the bags pointedly. “I don’t know, might do that though the thought of working for Mycroft makes me shudder.” He made a face. “Let’s get this Moriarty situation sorted out first...then I’ll be busy being your blogger again won’t I?”

“Hence freelance, take jobs when you have the time.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and picked up another bag, “Anything my brother comes up with is bound to pay incredibly well and before you start on about using connections for personal gain, I guarantee you that you’d get the going rate, no special treatment.”

John ran his hand through soldier short hair. “I can be a doctor when he needs it but I won’t be Mycroft’s pet hunter...I won’t be anyone’s pet hunter. That’s who I am and it’s not for sale.” He knew Mycroft well enough to know just what part of his skills he would rather take use of.

“I was referring to you freelancing for the human part of Mycroft’s purview, not the Underground. I’ve already warned my brother about poking at your hunter abilities.” He bit into the bag.

“I know that and I’m grateful, I also know your brother...Poking is what he does, it’s part of what makes him as successful as he is.” John reached into his bag and pulled out a thermos, he found it ridiculous to walk all the way to the kitchen for a cuppa and he wouldn’t call for one, making someone walk all the way up with one either.

Sherlock sketched a shield followed by a G in the air, making a soft hm-hm.

“Well Greg can’t keep his leash on Mycroft twenty-four seven now can he? Collar perhaps but not leash.” John flashed Sherlock a grin and sighed in contentment as he drank his tea.

Sherlock tossed the second empty bag into the bin, “Not leashing. Just talk to Lestrade about asking Mycroft not to press about your hunter side. Lestrade will, because he’s your friend, and Mycroft won’t press because Lestrade asked.”

“I’ve been rather pissy toward Greg lately; I won’t restart our friendship by asking him for a favor, maybe in time. I can handle my own against Mycroft though, if he pushes then I will push back and he won’t like it.” 

“Of course he won’t, he’s Mycroft.” Sherlock proceeded to ignore the last two bags and grabbed his laptop to begin typing something.

Figuring this was as good as it would get, thankful that Sherlock had eaten anything at all. He walked up and placed the two remaining bags of blood in the mini-fridge placed in one of the bookshelves of the room. He walked over and knelt next to Sherlock, motioning toward his side. “May I?”

He shifted without a word to let John look at his side while still dicking around on the laptop.

“Ta.” John pulled up Sherlock’s shirt with gentle hands and removed the wrappings, running capable fingertips over the red gashes. Going after his medical bag, John placed ointment on the wounds and redressed them. They still looked ugly but they were healing.

Sherlock had to concentrate on not making a purring sound. Despite the sting of the injury it felt good to have John touching him. A little too good, if not for Lestrade’s warning about making decisions for John he’d have wound up running again.

He finished tending Sherlock, pulling his shirt back down with a final caress to smooth skin. Then John got up and paced the room lightly. He knew he should go over the files but these rooms, he didn’t like them. John missed Baker Street. He would be anywhere if it meant being with Sherlock but that didn’t mean he was comfortable being there.

The vampire closed the laptop and watched John pace before speaking softly, “I miss home too.”

Looking over his shoulder mid-pace, John sent Sherlock a smile. “We’ll be back home soon, I told Skully so when I was at Baker Street yesterday. He is impatient that one.”

Sherlock chuckled, “You’ve no idea.” He set the laptop aside and got to his feet, going back over to the music stand to take the violin back up and begin playing one of John’s favorite pieces. One he’d memorized the moment he’d learned that John enjoyed it.

Smiling John returned to his chair and sat down. He closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock as his body and mind relaxed. Being able to sit and listen to Sherlock play one of his favorite pieces, it was close to home and John loved it, loved Sherlock.

The vampire fell into playing the music, into doing something that pleased John. For as long as the music lasted he could put away his worries and pretend that everything was just as he wanted.

 

~oOo~

 

Jamie Murray looked up at the knock on his doorframe and tilted his head in question at the man standing there. He looked like a very normal man in a beige jumper and jeans, pleasant faced with a military bearing but there was an edge under it all that had his hand tightening on his grading pen. “May I help you?”

John knew that Sherlock, Mycroft and Greg would take turns killing him since he had gone to visit James Murray without their knowledge; he still thought he was the best person to talk to Murray. If he looked closely then maybe he could see a family resemblance but where Moriarty was dark and hollow, James seemed sweet. John knew better than to be fooled by appearances though, this man could be just as bad as his brother. “Hello, my name is Dr. John Watson and I was wondering if I could have a word with you. It’s about your brother.”

The professor sighed, slumping a bit where he sat, “What has Jimmy done now?” He’d separated himself from his older brother years ago, as soon as he’d been legally able to live on his own and, as his brother insisted on making a criminal of himself, buried himself in mathematics and books so he wouldn’t have to pay attention to the news.

John looked at the younger man with sympathy. It would be hard for him to hear and it would be difficult for John to tell him about it. "It's more like what hasn't he done?" John steeled himself and began to tell Murray all he knew about Moriarty.

By the end of it all Jamie could do was sigh again, lift his glasses off his nose and pinch the bridge, “Please don’t take offense but I don’t see what I can possibly do about it or why you’d be seeking me out. I’ve not even seen, much less spoken to Jimmy since I graduated secondary school.”

“Because he’s seen you.” John didn’t see any reason to sugar coat things. “He still has you heavily guarded, I bet most of your colleagues work for your brother in one way or another. You are still his brother and no one knows how he thinks better than you.” He crossed his arms over his jumper clad chest. 

“Lovely to know that the people I work with are in my brother’s pocket. I’m sorry to burst your assumption bubble but I _don’t_ know how Jimmy thinks. I didn’t when we were kids and I don’t now. Being his brother doesn’t grant me some magical insight into his head, no one’s ever been able to get into his head and I certainly don’t want to be the first.”

“That’s fine then, I know someone who can get inside Moriarty’s head, I’m just worried about the cost of going there.” John’s tone was mellow. “And if you don’t have any relevant information for me then at least I’ve used you as bait. I told you that you were watched and Moriarty will act on me being here.” He turned blue eyes on James. “I’m sorry because he’s your brother but I will protect the one I love and put Moriarty in the ground.”

“Do as you please. So long as it doesn’t adversely affect my work I don’t particularly care. Now if that’s all?”

“Yes that is all.” John felt a little chill up his spine at the lack of emotion in the other man’s voice but it wasn’t his responsibility to care so he tried not to. “Best of luck with your work Professor Murray.” He found the hidden camera in James’ office with his eyes and winked at if before leaving the room.

Murray looked at the direction he’d winked and narrowed his eyes before picking up a steel paperweight and lobbing it at the camera he saw now that he bothered to look. Then he went back to grading papers like nothing had happened.

 

~oOo~

 

Greg looked over at Mycroft as they watched the CCTV footage trained on the van the currently unconscious, Dr. Watson was in. “What was in the tranq dart by the way? I’ve never seen a sedative work that quickly before.”

“Government secret, you are not supposed to have seen it this time either so pretend that you didn’t if you please.” Mycroft gave Greg a wink but his jaw was set with annoyance that Dr.Watson had gone rogue and gone to visit James Murray on his own.

“Secret’s safe with me.” He watched the van pull up beside an abandoned warehouse and the minions haul John out of the van and into the warehouse then switched his attention to the footage of Sherlock tracking John down, “Does he have some sort of GPS in John’s shoes or something?”

Mycroft put a finger to his nose, tapping it lightly. “We don’t need it.” He was a little concerned though, Sherlock’s side was not entirely healed and his brother hadn’t fed before he left.

“He’s going to kill us once he figures out what’s really going on. Hopefully that won’t happen until after he’s locked in with John though.” Greg’s hand was resting at the back of Mycroft’s neck, gently playing in soft wisps of the hair at the nape.

“Mm, I’m hoping that the rewards will outweigh the risks here. Sherlock needs John and this is to make sure he gets him.” Tiny goose-bumps rose in the wake of Greg touching him and he shivered lightly with pleasure. On the screen he watched Sherlock go in to the warehouse, so far it was going as planned.

A few minutes past Sherlock entering and a crackle of static came over the speaker of the communication device on the desk, “They’re locked in sir. Dr. Watson is still unconscious and Mr. Holmes appears to be quite agitated.”

Greg snorted softly. That was like saying a rabid tiger was a little ill-tempered.

“Good work, keep them under surveillance but leave the warehouse.” Mycroft wanted to give his brother and his chosen one some privacy. His shoulders relaxed slightly now that they were locked in, he knew that not even Sherlock, as strong as he was, would be able to get out of the small room they were locked inside. It was built to keep vampires inside and Mycroft’d had it tested several times.

“Yes, sir.” 

Greg outright laughed when Sherlock’s voice, cursing Mycroft, came over the line before it clicked dead. “Oh we are dead. Want to make the best of our remaining time?” He grinned at Mycroft.

“Best suggestion I’ve heard all day.” Mycroft’s smile turned dirty and he pulled Greg into his lap.

Lestrade hummed as he laid his lips on Mycroft’s and didn’t give any further thought to the two men who were bound to plot their deaths when they got out of the tiny holding cell beyond hoping that they’d finally work it out.

_**To be continued…** _


	10. Part Ten

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; our boys locked in together, some progress between them but oh boy, Sherlock is seriously a stubborn bastard._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Ten._ **

Sherlock was going to skin his brother. That was all there was to it. Sneaky, meddling, self-important, fat bastard. He went over several imaginative methods of extermination even as he stayed crouched beside John, measuring his pulse. This close now he could smell the tranquilizer, one specially formulated for genetic hunters, and had to admit to relief. When John woke he’d be a bit groggy at first but it would clear quickly. The cell they were in was barely long enough for John to lay out and just wide enough to allow Sherlock to crouch beside him.

He’d been stupid. Found out that John had gone to visit James Murray then caught scent of him being abducted when he’d left to catch his hunter. He’d tracked him and let his worry at seeing him face down in the cell override his mind. He’d rushed in and wound up locked inside the cell with John. 

John awoke to a pounding head and the knowledge that he had absolutely no idea where he was. He opened his eyes but all he saw was darkness. He’d known that Moriarty would come after him but he hadn’t known it would happen quite as quickly.

His muscles tensed for fight when he realized he wasn’t alone. He turned but the fight went out of him when he figured out that it was Sherlock who was next to him. 

“Did they manage to get you too?” He reached out, feeling for Sherlock in worry, wanting to check that he was okay.

Sherlock snorted, “Not Moriarty. My fat bastard of a brother is the one who’s arranged our charming accommodations.”

“Fucking hell...Why?” John tried to stretch and realized that the room they were in was tiny, more like a closet than a room. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could see that Sherlock was not happy. John didn’t feel exactly chipper himself but at least the headache was clearing.

“Good question. I believe that I am simply going to choose the explanation that my brother is an arse and leave it at that.” He helped John maneuver into a sitting position at one end of the closet then sat at the other himself, twitching a bit when, even with knees drawn up, their feet brushed. Meddling bastard.

John shook his head, longing to punch Mycroft right in that overly long nose of his. “Are you okay, did they drug you too?” When John reached out, he rested his hand on Sherlock’s knee. He could feel Sherlock’s warmth under his fingers and it made them tingle.

His fingers twitched, feeling the warm rush John’s touch gave him, but he didn’t shift further. “I’m fine. Wasn’t drugged.”

“‘Kay” John had more questions but his head was still a little fuzzy and frankly he was glad not to be alone. Small spaces had never been his friend, especially after he joined the army. Small spaces like this never meant anything good. “Went to see Murray, he doesn’t care about Moriarty, doesn’t care about anything other than his work.”

“I know about you going to see him,” Sherlock’s voice was dark and irritated. “Murray may not care about his brother but Moriarty obviously does not share the dispassion.”

“Don’t use that annoyed tone with me. I was the most fitting one to go see him and you know it.” John sounded stubborn. “He has cameras everywhere and I noticed two shifters among the faculty. Moriarty definitely has his brother watched.”

“Precisely why I am ‘annoyed’ John. What if they had been the ones to tranq you? You had no back up. You didn’t tell me you were going.” That both irritated and hurt. It made him feel as though John didn’t trust him.

“You wouldn’t have let me go...Besides Sherlock...You’re not the one to talk about telling before doing.” John wasn’t accusing, he was just stating facts. 

“I wouldn’t have _wanted_ you to go. I am well aware that you can not be deterred once set on something. I had thought when I agreed that we would do it all together now that went both ways.” If this was even half of how John had felt to be cut out and not allowed to help then Sherlock would admit, to himself, that he’d deserved the broken nose and more beside. Still he had apologized and given his word that they would work together to deal with Moriarty from the broken nose on and somehow John going without seeking Sherlock’s help in a plan made him feel as if the hunter thought his word worthless.

John shifted so he could cup Sherlock’s face and make the vampire look at him. “I didn’t think straight, you got hurt Sherlock, you got hurt and it could have gone really bad. I want nothing but protect you, keep you safe. I went because I thought it was better for Moriarty to go after me than you...I wanted to end this because you don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve to hide, to be anything less than the marvel that you are and everyone should know it.”

He kept his eyes averted, looking at the tip of John’s nose, “Am I not allowed to help you protect yourself then?” He could see what Lestrade meant about making decisions for someone else being ‘not good’ from this. 

“Yes you are, of course you are.” John rubbed his thumbs along Sherlock’s cheekbones. “I want us to protect each other, be a team. I made a mistake...you can punch me in the nose if you want to.”

He shook his head, eyes half closing in pleasure at the little strokes over his cheeks, “I don’t want to punch you.” He never wanted to hurt John. Never.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” John shuffled forward on his knees, continuing his soft touches to Sherlock’s face. “I won’t do it again, never leave you behind. I promise.”

“Don’t make that promise;” there was something painfully lost in Sherlock’s voice, “No one is capable of keeping it.” He’d seen that proven time and again when he’d been left behind over and over, many times the ones leaving him not doing so by choice.

“I do, I will be the first then because I do make that promise to you.” John’s thumb rubbed over Sherlock’s bottom lip and leaned closer. “I will never leave...Don’t you know already? That I am completely yours?”

“John...I’m not good for people.” He couldn’t help but lean into the touch despite himself, “I cause pain and suffering to those I care for by simply existing but I’m not strong enough to walk away. You _should_ leave, should run before I’m the end of you.”

“Buggering bullshite!” John’s voice was sharp in the tiny space of the closet. “You are good for me. To me, you are perfect and just being near you makes me a better man. Being with you is everything...It’s being forced to be without you that would ruin me. Please Sherlock...I love you.” John’s heart pounded as he said those words but they needed to be said.

Sherlock made a soft whimper. “I know. It terrifies me. The more people love me the more they get hurt and if you were hurt because of me,” one hand wrapped around John’s wrist, “it would destroy me but God help me I can’t...I can’t stay distant.”

“Don’t, don’t stay distant. I can take care of myself. I am here to stay...For as long as you want me.” Fighting down his fear, John leaned forward until he could press his lips against Sherlock’s. Sometimes actions spoke stronger than words ever could.

He trembled, humiliating but he couldn’t help it. A soul deep warmth spread through him at the soft touch of John’s lips against his and he leaned into it. He was weak and selfish but he couldn’t keep trying to convince John to go, not when everything he’d been aching for was being handed to him. He was certain he’d be damned for it but he’d accept that when the time came.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling him close to him, enveloping him against himself as he kept on kissing him. He would take care of Sherlock; spend his life showing the other just how much he was worth and how much he was loved.

He melted into John, making a soft sound of both approval and demand. His arms went around John’s waist to help him cling tighter. He parted his lips and flicked his tongue against John’s lips, asking for more.

Moaning, John flicked his tongue against Sherlock’s, deepening the kiss and tasting Sherlock’s mouth. It was exquisite and it made John’s body burn at the same time it felt like coming home. He continued to hold Sherlock close with one hand and the other went into Sherlock’s hair, scratching along his scalp.

A moan escaped him, completely independent of his will. John just had to do that didn’t he, find his weak point without knowing it and take ruthless advantage. He sucked at John’s tongue in retaliation and shifted to his thigh rubbed against John’s groin. His nerve endings felt alive with sensation.

Oh God, feeling Sherlock’s thigh rubbed at his erection drove him crazy and John couldn’t help but rub against the touch, seeking more friction. He groaned into Sherlock’s mouth and fisted his hand in Sherlock’s hair pulling his head back so he could kiss and lick his way a long, pale neck.

Sherlock groaned and wiggled his hands under John’s jumper so he could touch the warm skin just above the waistband of his denims. He helped John shift against his thigh as much as he could, enjoying the reactions and cataloguing them for later reference.

“I love you and gods I want you, you drive me insane Sherlock...absolutely insane.” John kept his mouth against Sherlock’s throat, biting down gently as he pulled his jumper and t-shirt over his own head before moving to work on Sherlock’s buttons.

This was probably a bad idea, they were locked in a closet, probably a monitored closet at that, but God when he felt John’s teeth against his throat it sent a shock of such staggering lust through him that he was almost surprised something didn’t catch fire. His hands stroked over John’s skin, finding scars and caressing them to memorize their shape and location. He lightly scored his nails over the broad ribcage, enjoying the jump it triggered.

John nearly growled when he finally got Sherlock’s shirt off. He didn’t care where they were just that he had Sherlock in his arms, warm and responsive, it was heaven. He ran his hands over Sherlock’s torso, flicking a pale pink nipple when his brows furrowed in worry and he tore his lips away from Sherlock’s addictive skin. “You’ve bled through your dressings.”

He made a dissatisfied sound at the loss of mouth and hands on him before John’s words registered. He looked down and made a neutral hum, “Inconvenient.”

“Idiot.” John ran gentle fingers over the red stained dressings. He didn’t have any bandages here and nothing to clean the wounds with. “These should have healed more than this by now. Were you thinking and not eating again?” There was a soft scolding note beneath the worry in John’s voice. 

“No,” it was followed by an almost petulant pause, “I simply left the house once I became aware of where you’d gone after I woke up.”

“Well shite.” John couldn’t say much more since it was partly his fault, he had to admit that. “Oh Sherlock, my Sherlock, what am I going to do with you? You need to feed.” John knew the solution; he only needed to talk Sherlock into doing it.

“I’m fine John. It can wait until Mycroft’s merry minions return and release us, which shouldn’t be too long. It’s not as though I can actually bleed to death.”

“No but I know what happens to a vampire with blood loss and so do you.” John really didn’t like the thought of Sherlock bleeding but he knew what a stubborn git Sherlock could be. Instead he slipped his hip over Sherlock’s and straddled the other man, going back to licking and sucking at his neck. “Don’t you want to bite me though? Mark me and make me yours?”

Sherlock’s hands went to John’s thighs, gripping as he automatically tilted his head back, eyes drifting half closed again in lazy pleasure. Of course he wanted to bite John. It went without saying that he wanted to taste his blood and lay a permanent mark on him. But he didn’t like the idea of it being this way. “Nnnn. Not like this.” He didn’t want it to be an emergency feeding in a tiny little closet because he was injured. As much as he spoke against sentiment, he was as much a victim to it as anyone else and he wanted the first time he bit John to be special.

John nosed along Sherlock’s collarbone. “No? I want to mark you, make you mine and be inside you. I’ve dreamt about it, longed for it for so long.” 

He shivered and made a soft, pleading sound, pleading for what he didn’t really know. “Of course I _want_ that, to mark and be marked and oh God to have you inside me but not like this. Not here, not because I’m injured and bleeding. I want it to be...more, special.” So much of his life’s important moments had taken place under duress. He wanted just one moment, one of the most important, to be different.

John moved to kiss Sherlock again softly. “Then we wait love, until it’s you and me and a soft bed where we are all alone. Just don’t ask me to stop kissing you.” He placed butterfly kisses all over Sherlock’s face, still straddling him. 

He leaned into the kisses, “That would be stupid,” he met John’s mouth with his in a short, intense kiss, “Do you have your phone however? The sooner I can contact the fat bastard, the faster we can get out of this closet.”

“Hm.” John nibbled on Sherlock’s bottom lip and canted his hips into Sherlock’s as he reached into his front pocket to pull his phone out. “Can’t hate him too much though if he got you to be mine...Might even give him cake.”

Sherlock made a soft growl but took the phone to text Mycroft. 

‘Bleeding, claw marks opened up. Get. Us. Out. Or else. - SH’

A very naked, very shagged out Mycroft fished for his phone on the desk and stared at the screen, letting out a disappointed huff. 

‘Have you kissed and made up then? Easier to get blood in then you out if you’re still stubborn. - M’

Sherlock was not about to answer that question. It was for him and John and he was not giving his brother the satisfaction.

‘Get us out NOW Mycroft, unless you want Greg to hear about the tooth fairy, and to see the duck portrait. - SH’

Grunting in defeat, Mycroft rested his head on Greg’s stomach. He sent a text to his minions to let the two captives out.

‘You can thank me later little brother...And the duck portrait is burned. - M’

‘I’ll thank you when hell freezes over you fat bastard, and Mother had a copy made before the original’s unfortunate destruction. A copy I may just have photographed multiple times over the years as technology improved. - SH’

Sherlock returned the phone to John just as the door opened and the minions were looking in.

John blinked at the light and scrambled off Sherlock’s lap, suddenly very aware that both of them were without their shirts. John didn’t like the thought of anyone other than him looking at Sherlock and he had to stop himself from growling.

Mycroft placed his phone back on the desk and pondered if he should get dressed. If he was going to die at his brother’s hands he should probably have his clothes on.

Greg played his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, “What is it? Did they work it out or not?”

“Sherlock is refusing to tell me, which means yes.” Mycroft turned his head, still resting it on Greg’s belly but now looking up at his lover. “His claw marks opened and he would refuse to feed from John in those circumstances so no choice but to let them out.”

“Bloody idiots the both of them. Well at least they won’t be dancing round each other like skittish cats anymore. Got a question though,” he stroked Mycroft’s cheek, “Why has Sherlock been able to keep feeding from the bagged blood even though he’s been completely John’s for a long time now?”

“Sherlock has shut himself off so completely he wouldn’t let himself tie his soul to someone else like that. Not even John. I’m hoping that will change now.” He rubbed his face against the soft skin of Greg’s belly. 

“I hope so too. Poor kid,” he shook his head, “I’m glad John came along when he did.”

“Me too.” Mycroft honestly didn’t know what he would have done if John hadn’t shown up. He’d slowly been losing his brother. Groaning he shifted so he could reach for his shirt. “Sherlock’s not going to be happy when he comes home though and I rather not die naked.”

“He is not going to kill you,” Greg let Mycroft slip away to dress and started pulling his own clothes on, “If he tries I’ll remind him that I’ve still got that video of him high as a fucking kite after Adler injected him with...whatever the hell it was.”

Mycroft made an annoyed face as he buttoned up his slacks. “I don’t know either, Sherlock wouldn’t let me analyze his blood afterwards. Whatever it was it was powerful enough to knock a vampire out within minutes...I really hate not knowing.” 

Greg hummed and fastened the last button on his shirt going over to squeeze Mycroft’s shoulders from behind, “I can bring it up to John, mention that it could be something Moriarty’s people have in stock and that we can’t have an antidote if we don’t know what it is.”

"Well I suppose that if it's something you bring up in passing to your very possessive and protective hunter friend that wouldn't be me taking advantage right? Mycroft looked up over his shoulder with a smile for Greg.

“Not at all,” he kissed the back of Mycroft’s neck, “We might as well go get ready to face the music.”

"Yes, I suppose we might. I still have a bone to pick with the good doctor too for going after Murray without backup. “

“That was a bonehead move yeah. More like something Sherlock would do. They’re rubbing off on each other.”

"Mmm and not in a good way, as distasteful as it is to think such things about my brother." Mycroft straightened his tie and waited for the storm to hit.

The ride back to Mycroft’s home was uneventful, but the entire way Sherlock was massively aware of John holding his hand in between forcing blood bags on him. Then he was accosted by Hettie’s fussing as soon as they arrived. “I’m fine Hettie.”

"Well I am going to check that for myself before I believe it." She ran her hands over him and forced yet another bloodbag in his hands. "And you," She glared at John. "Don't even get me started on you."

John nearly took a step back.

“Please don’t. John and I have already discussed it. There’s no need to get started on him.” He let her eyes his side and tsk, “I should probably use a blood poultice I know.”

“If you know that then you should go wash up and wait for me to bring a blood poultice to you.” Hettie’s voice was still sharp in her worry but she did notice Sherlock’s defense of John and the way their hands were still linked. That made her want to jump and squee but she had a feeling Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate that. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching up and petting Sherlock’s cheek though, he was her little boy just like Mycroft was.

He kissed her cheek before pulling John with him to the suite. “I’ll deal with Mycroft later.” His irritation over being locked in a closet had waned but the anger over the fact that he’d had John drugged and literally kidnapped was going strong. Very strong.

John squeezed Sherlock’s hand and released a breath of relief when the doors to the suite closed behind them. Right now the impersonal rooms felt like heaven without minions watching their every step. “Hettie is right, you should wash out all closet bacteria from the wound.” He was more pissed than anything, that Mycroft had managed to snag him meant that he hadn’t been watchful enough.

Sherlock made an assenting sound and stripped his shirt off. He’d not even bothered to grab his coat once he’d learned of John’s destination, an obscenely rare occurrence. He grimaced as the movement pulled on the claw wounds and opened them up yet again. Blasted hellhounds.

“Wait.” John didn’t like the way the wounds opened. “Come.” He pulled Sherlock along with him to the bathroom and sat him down on the closed toilet so he could clean the gashes. Even with the gaping wounds it was difficult not getting distracted by the expanse of white, beautiful skin in front of him but John did his best to let the doctor in him take the front seat.

Sherlock controlled his flinching, not wanting to make John feel guilty when he was being as gentle as possible, “I truly do loathe being injured by hellhounds. It’s such a bother being stuck in place for days.” Not to mention the secondary effect of the venom contained in the claws if the victim survived long enough, which seemed to be kicking in now.

“I’m sorry Sherlock, I know it hurts but it needs to be cleaned. It will feel better when Hettie comes with the blood poultice.” John was as light on his fingers as he could be but he knew that with the hyper sensitivity from the hellhound’s venom every touch would hurt.

“No reason for you to be sorry.” His hand snuck to splay over John’s hip, concentrating on the wool of the sweater rather than the delicate dabs at his side that felt like knives cutting deeper. “Dr. Who after Hettie brings the poultice? On low volume of course.” He was going to be useless in very short course as the sensitivity spread from his nerve endings to all his senses. Fourtunately it only lasted twenty four hours but that was twenty four too many in his opinion.

“Sounds like a plan.” John would look after Sherlock, make it as easy for him as he could. He knew how much Sherlock hated not being in complete control of himself.

There was a soft knock on the door and Hettie came in, walking straight to the bathroom without hesitation. “Here you are love, we will fix you right up.” She and John helped putting on the poultice and dressings. Working as quickly as they could to make it easier for Sherlock.

He couldn’t quite contain the hiss of pain as the poultice and dressings were applied but he didn’t complain. “Thank you Hettie.”

“You are welcome sweetheart.” Hettie placed a kiss to the top of his head. “There’s blood waiting for you in the sitting room and a nice plate of Shepherd’s pie for you John. Just relax tonight. I will personally keep Mycroft out of your hair for the evening.”

“Again, thank you. I’ll find a more appropriately proportionate expression of gratitude for that once I’m freed from the bed rest John will no doubt enforce.”

“Damn right.” John agreed, rolling up the dressings he hadn’t used and putting away his kit. “I double Sherlock’s sentiment though, thank you so much Hettie, for taking care of him.”

“Oh, anything for my boys.” She leaned forward, kissing John’s cheek and showing that she now considered him part of the fold as well. “I’m just downstairs if you need anything.” She couldn’t wait to find Thomas and tell him that John and Sherlock were together now.

Sherlock knew exactly what she was thinking, having dealt with her for most of his life, “Tell him not to gloat.” He chose not to put his shirt back on, no point really when he’d wind up taking it off again when it came time to change the dressings.

“Oh dearie, you know he’ll gloat anyway.” She beamed at them and nearly skipped out of the suite. Sherlock had been alone for so long, this was a cause for celebration.

John wanted to help Sherlock to the couch but he knew it would hurt more than help at the moment so he just followed behind Sherlock and put the DVD of Dr. Who on before sitting down on the other end of the couch reaching for the plate of food.

Sherlock nibbled on the corner of a blood bag, sipping a bit every now and again, drawing a lot of blood into his mouth then pushing it back into the bag, drawing the one bag out as he watched the action onscreen and waited for John to finish his meal. He watched the ninth doctor scolding the every-sexual Jack Harkness for flirting with vague amusement. 

“I had a wet dream about Captain Jack Harkness in Afghanistan, much to the amusement of my men.” John devoured the food on his plate while watching the screen. 

“Really?” Sherlock looked over at him, tilting his head in question, “Why?”

“Screaming out a male name while having a hard on that could pound nails is definitely a source of amusement in the army. I got more than one offer of help.” John smiled fondly, he had been well taken care of in the army and made a lot of good friends.

“Did you take anyone up on that offer?” It was his usual innocent curiosity. Past lovers were in the past, no need to feel jealous now. If any of those past lovers were to appear looking to reconnect however...that would be a different story.

“Not at that particular moment no.” John wouldn’t lie, he’d had male lovers before Sherlock but he had never loved anyone the way he loved Sherlock. Sherlock was special and John knew it was for life, the vampire was the only one he wanted from here on out. “Nothing my own hand couldn’t relieve.”

“Interesting family dynamic, the army.”

“Yes, they become the family I wished I had and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.” It wasn’t only the adrenaline and fighting that John missed about the war, it was the camaraderie and familiarity as well.

“I am glad you had them.” He watched as John played with his food and wished he’d finish already. “I know you still speak with Lieutenant Murrey, do you have regular contact with any others?”

“Nah, the occasional e-mail and we try to meet up when they are on leave.” It was not the same though, when you were in battle with someone you shared everything, once you were out, you were out and John didn’t mind. He had Sherlock now and he treasured that so much more.

“Do you ever want more?” It was a soft question, “Beyond what’s connected to me I mean.”

John thought about it. “Did my life turn out the way I expected it to? No it didn’t but I don’t want more and everything not connected to you is a moot point...You are everything.”

It was a comforting answer. Perhaps it wasn’t what people would consider healthy to be so wrapped up in each other but it worked for them. Sherlock nodded at his plate, “Are you finished with that?”

“Yes, yes I am.” John looked down at his plate and placed on the sofa table.

Sherlock then grabbed his blood bags and lay down, snugging his head into John’s now empty lap, his injured side up. That was better, more comfortable, less pressure on the wound from gravity, and he had contact with John while they watched the DVD and he drained the blood bags.

Smiling, John gently raked his fingers through Sherlock’s hair mindful not to touch skin since he knew that would hurt Sherlock. This was nice, it was like home.

Sherlock finished the blood bags and felt his eyes drooping, the gentle tickle of John’s fingers in his hair soothing until he found himself drifting off just as Rose Tyler was destroying the Daleks.

_**To be continued…** _


	11. Part Eleven

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; John is not happy with Mycroft, Greg on the other hand will be very, very happy with him before long. Some information about Sherlock and Mycroft’s childhood and parents._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Eleven._ **

It was several hours later, after John had managed to coax him to move to the bed, that Sherlock found himself in the landscape of an old dream. Not so much a dream as it was a memory. One he’d never managed to delete from his hard drive no matter how much he tried. He was a child once more struggling against one of the enforcers assigned to his mother’s protection and watching Mycroft’s retreating back as he was held back from following after his brother. “No! No! My! Don’t leave me here! Please! Don’t leave me alone! I’ll be good I promise! Take me with you please! Please I don’t want to be alone! My! MY! MYCROFT!”

“Shh, shh love it’s dream, just a dream.” John had run from the couch at the first sign of distress and now he had wrapped himself around Sherlock. Right now he figured closeness was more important than any pain. “I’m here and I won’t leave you alone, I’ll never leave you alone.” He wondered if Greg would kill him if he crushed Mycroft’s bollocks, the git deserved it. 

Sherlock struggled both consciously and subconsciously, trying to get out of the dream even while knowing that it was impossible until it reached its conclusion. It always ended the same way; once Mycroft was in his carriage and leaving, the enforcer dragged him back inside to where his pale and perfectly beautiful mother stood sneering down at him in disgust. She drew back her hand and on its connection to his cheek, he woke shivering and curling into himself.

“Oh love, I’m here, I’m here and I’m not leaving.” John didn’t know what Sherlock was dreaming about but he could see and feel how utterly upset he was. “You’re not there anymore, you’re here with me and I love you, I love you so much.” He pressed several kissed to Sherlock’s temple and cheek and continued to hold him.

John’s voice soothed him, calmed the shivers and made him relax even though his sensitized nerve endings were screaming. He concentrated on breathing and the almost furnace of heat John felt like against him. It wasn’t comfortable but Sherlock had lived through pain plenty of times and he needed the touch and contact right now.

“There you are love.” John noticed that Sherlock was aware now. He didn’t ask what the vampire had dreamt about, not wanting Sherlock to relive it again. John just wanted to be there for him. He continued to rake his fingers through damp hair and stayed close. “Go to sleep again sweetheart, you need the rest and I am here, I’m not going anywhere.”

He wiggled his hands between them and curled his fingers into John’s jumper in an almost desperate clench as he buried his face against his hunter doctor’s throat and inhaled the scent of baked goods, desert, gun oil, and antiseptic that was John. He didn’t speak, his throat still constricted by the memory, and focused on sliding under the discomfort of his venom enhanced sensitivity back into sleep. 

John cradled Sherlock close, watching over Sherlock in his sleep, hoping no more bad dreams would touch his love. He hated that Sherlock had lived through so much loneliness and pain but he promised himself that that was over now. From here on out, Sherlock would never be on his own again. John would look out for him, protect him and love him.

 

~oOo~

 

When Sherlock woke up again the hyper sensitivity had run its course, he was aware of a toilet flushing, which explained John’s absence, and he rolled over, burying his face in the bed, pulling a pillow over his head. He may not sleep often but when he did he _stayed_ in the bloody bed until he was dragged kicking and screaming out of it, or until something more interesting than the bed was comfortable came along.

Washing his hands, John walked back into the bedroom and pulled the covers up over Sherlock. He wanted the other to get as much sleep and rest as he could. He walked into the sitting room and dug out his phone to call Sarah and let her know he wouldn’t come to the clinic for his shift. He knew she wouldn’t be happy but he couldn’t really care. He would take Sherlock’s advice and hand in his notice. He wasn’t happy at the clinic and Sarah deserved someone who put their all into the work.

Sherlock could hear John talking to his boss and smirked in satisfaction. Good, he was taking his advice. He wiggled just a bit and groaned at the twinge in his side. He’d probably need another blood poultice soon as well as blood bags. He hated being injured, especially when it took so long to heal.

After finishing a not so pleasant phone call with Sarah Sawyer, John looked in on Sherlock again before leaving the suite and making his way to the kitchen to pick up blood and a poultice for Sherlock. He scowled when he saw Greg sitting at the large oak table, still pissed about the abduction.

“Well good morning to you too sunshine.” Greg just sipped at his coffee and continued reading the sports section of the newspaper.

“Fuck you.” John went to pour himself a cup of tea from the ready kettle, grabbing a blueberry scone as well. “Come back when you got a dart to the neck and got locked in a closet the size of a coffin.”

“Blaming me are you?” Greg turned the page, “Cheers then and you know for a man who was in the army you’re really _bad_ at paying attention to your surroundings. How’s Sherlock?”

“I can still kick your arse if it came down to it.” John gave Greg a reluctant smile, finding it hard to be angry at the other man. “Sherlock’s resting, I’m going to bring him blood and another poultice...fucking hellhound.” 

“He’ll be alright though, if the both of you can keep from tearing off anywhere for a few days. you managed to make Mycroft curse in three different languages when he found out where you’d gone.” He shook his head in amusement.

“Good, the bastard will do more than curse when I am done with him. Your lover or not, he and I are going to have words.” John bit into his scone.

“Is this for the tranq and trap or something else?” Greg dunked his doughnut into his coffee and lifted it to his mouth. He knew that the odds of his lover and John ever truly getting along were very low. Mycroft had a talent for pissing John off without really trying.

“I don’t think you really want to know.” John thought about Sherlock’s dream and his anguish at Mycroft leaving him alone. 

Hettie came in and pressed a kiss to the top of both their heads. “Good morning boys, can I make you anything special for breakfast?” 

Greg shook his head, “I’m sorted with my doughnuts.” He met John’s eyes, “And want to know, maybe not, but it involves my lover so I think I might just need to know.”

“I’m not sure I’m the one the one to tell you. Sherlock is my priority and if he wants you to know then he’ll tell you himself.” John met Greg’s eyes before sliding them to Hettie. “And thank you but I’m good with this delicious scone. I would appreciate it if you could make another poultice for   
Sherlock though.”

“Of course love, I hope he’s feeling better.” Hettie hurried to get the poultice done.

“So something from the mess that was their...what childhood? How many years are there between Mycroft and Sherlock anyway?” Greg tilted his head. Mycroft didn’t talk about his childhood, well he hardly really talked about his past at all, understandable considering how recently it was that he’d only just found out about the vampire thing. Still he made vague references to the opera and plays and other things even before they’d started shagging but never a peep about his childhood or Sherlock’s.

“It’s nearly a century between the masters, seventy years to be exact.” Hettie came back out, carrying a basket with the poultice and several bloodbags. “The old master and mistress didn’t plan on anymore children after master Mycroft...They didn’t treat master Sherlock right.”

“Seventy? Bloody hell,” Greg frowned hearing about Sherlock’s parents, reading between lines loud and clear, “So...Mycroft wasn’t around when Sherlock was a kid?” He looked at Hettie.

“No he wasn’t.” Hettie sighed. “Mycroft was busy traveling the world and training to take over as Master of Britain. You must understand that even at seventy, Mycroft was a very young vampire...He didn’t understand.” Hettie had practically raised Mycroft and she would defend him to her dying breath.

Greg remembered Sherlock mentioning a string of nannies caring for him occasionally at one point but never anything about Hettie, who he very clearly respected and liked, and alarm bells clanged loudly. He sipped at his coffee as John took the basket from Hettie, “Just leave my favorite parts in working order if you please John.”

“Well see, I’ll get to you after I’m done with Mycroft.” John got up and grabbed the basket from Hettie, kissing her on the cheek before walking back toward the suite and Sherlock.

Hettie sighed and wrung her hands, loving both her boys. “More coffee?” She looked at Greg.

He handed her his mug, “Yes please. John won’t be getting to Mycroft without me there while he’s in this mood, not when he’s more focused on taking care of Sherlock. I think I’m going to have to have a talk with Mycroft though so I know how much damage control will be needed.”

Hettie put a lock of her hair behind her ear before refilling Greg’s mug. “Don’t judge him too harshly...please. It was a different time back then and Mycroft didn’t know, he didn’t know how bad it was, when he found out it was too late.” 

“I’m not judging him Hettie but I need to know so I can keep John from mutilating him and maybe knock some sense into him about the stupid notion he has about himself not being a good man.”

“I could tell you what I know but I think it’s better coming from Mycroft himself...If you can get him talking that is.” Hettie fretted with the dirty dishes. “You can check the history books though, about the massacre of Sussex...That will give you a little idea about who Mycroft and Sherlock’s father was.

“Slaughter stories in the morning,” Greg rolled his shoulders, knowing that he was about to wade into a shitstorm. “Just another day in the life.” He picked up his coffee and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’d better get the research out of the way before I beard the lion in his den then.”

Hettie sighed, remembering the past clear as day. “Be gentle with him please, no matter what you learn...Please just love him.”

“Hettie I could no more keep from loving Mycroft than the sun could keep from coming up every day. It’s my job to look after him too, since he won’t let anyone else do it. I’ll see you later.” He went to go search the library, and possibly the internet if the massacre of Sussex wasn’t in the books in the house.

 

~oOo~

 

Greg leaned on the doorjamb and studied Mycroft as he quietly filed the last of the day’s paperwork away before dismissing Anthea. Greg nodded at the woman, who narrowed her eyes at him, prompting an innocent blink, before leaving the office.

Mycroft looked up at him, closing down the document on his computer. “Had a busy day?” He had fully expected John to barge in his office, ready to kick his ass and he was honestly a little worried that he hadn’t seen a sign of the doctor.

“Depends on your definition of busy. Started off with an interesting morning greeting from John.” He stepped in, turning to close the door then locked it.

“Oh.” Every shield Mycroft had went up and his face become an unreadable mask. “Learn anything exciting then?”

He moved around to sit on the corner of Mycroft’s desk, “He has every intention in the world of ripping you a new one, I’m thinking something happened after they got back. Something to do with Sherlock’s childhood,” he knew that Mycroft’s face would give nothing away but his lover had other tells, little twitches and tilts that Greg could read.

“Sherlock didn’t have a childhood.” Mycroft’s voice was flat, he didn’t like this conversation, knowing that Greg would leave him if he ever found out the entire truth. “I can handle John Watson when he comes.”

Greg moved from the corner of the desk to hooking his legs on either side of Mycroft and sitting in his lap. “Seventy years between you, Thomas was kind enough to help me equate seventy in born vampires to fifteen in we short lived humans by the way, so basically you were a teenager when Sherlock came along, in a time when teens were already married with kids on the way, apprenticing in places almost ungodly far away from home, and Sherlock was more than a surprise, he wasn’t wanted by your parents.” 

“No he wasn’t wanted.” Mycroft didn’t meet Greg’s eyes. “Mother tried to get rid of him every way she should. It nearly killed her...Father didn’t care about anything in the world except for Mummy, almost losing her made him hate Sherlock even before he was born. I was not at home but even if I had been...I can’t say that I would have cared.”

“You were a kid. One who’d been the only child for decades and by the time you weren’t you were long out of the house and you almost lost your Mum in the bet. No can’t say I’d expect a kid to care,” he cupped Mycroft’s face, “I read about the massacre, did a little extra digging even, called an old historian friend. It was after that you were made Master of Britain am I right?”

“Yes, it was after that, that I ripped my father’s head off.” Mycroft still didn’t look at Greg, though he leaned into his lover’s touch. “I should have paid attention, I should have stopped Father before it went that far and I should have protected Sherlock. I failed and I know I did.

“You were a _kid_ and you were still a kid when you had all those new responsibilities dumped on you while you were hurting and confused and scared and left Sherlock behind,” he felt the jump and new tension underneath him and brought his other hand up so Mycroft’s face was cradled in his hands, “I figured that out from little bits and pieces dropped by the both of you over the last five years.” He pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead, feeling immeasurably sad for both his lover and for Sherlock, “You were just a kid baby.”

“No I wasn’t. I was old enough to take responsibility for an empire. I was more was more than mature enough to take care of and protect my little brother. I chose not to and that’s an entirely different matter.” Mycroft felt his heart stutter and clench. “I knew what Mummy was like, especially after Father was gone and I still left Sherlock there...caring more about myself than about him.” 

“You were young, you made a mistake, and I see you paying for it every day baby,” he stroke Mycroft’s cheek, “I see you hating yourself every time Sherlock has problems, see you blaming yourself for them.”

Mycroft's voice went from carefully blank to tortured. "I should hate and blame myself, everyone should. I'm selfish and bad to the core, I know it."

“No you’re not Mycroft. Were you selfish? Yeah, I won’t lie to you. Leaving Sherlock behind was selfish but you’d just been forced to kill your father and then take on an empire. I’m not going to say being selfish then was right, it’d be the biggest lie I’ve ever spouted, but it was understandable relative to the person you were then.” He continued to touch Mycroft’s face gently. “You’re not the kid you were then Mycroft and you are far from selfish now. Overbearing, arrogant, a little scornful sometimes, and you don’t always watch that sharp tongue, but selfish isn’t a word I’d call you now. And you are bloody well not bad, you’re a very, very good man and I’ll kick the arse of anyone or anything that says otherwise. Even you, difference is I’ll be kissing the bruises I leave behind when I’m done for you.”

Mycroft knew that Greg was wrong, knew that he wasn't very good inside but as he'd stated he was selfish and he couldn't bare the thought of losing Greg so he stayed quiet. He circled Greg's waist with his arms and held on tight. Sherlock and he would never have a normal brotherly relationship but Mycroft was trying to make Sherlock see that he could trust him now, despite kidnappings and such, that was done in Sherlock's best interest after all. 

Greg knew that just saying it wouldn’t convince Mycroft but he hoped in time, with being a persistent bugger, he could get his lover to understand that he wasn’t a bad man. It would just take time, patience, and consistent loving. In keeping with that last bit, he ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, pressed soft kisses over his face, and murmured sweet nothings to him in the Welsh his Nan had taught him.

Selfish as he was, Mycroft latched on to Greg and the comfort his mate offered with everything he had. He couldn’t change his past but he would do his best to be good to Greg, to be the sort of man he deserved. “I love you.”

“I love you too baby,” Greg brushed his lips lightly over Mycroft’s, arms going around his shoulders just holding him, loving him with everything in his heart. “So very much do I love you.”

“I don’t care about Moriarty anymore, John has gone and poked the bear anyway...Move in here. I want to share my life with you and I don’t want to wait.” Mycroft tilted his head slightly so he could listen to the beat of Greg’s heart. No one had as beautiful a heart as his Greg.

“I’ll pack my things up tomorrow then,” one hand shifted through Mycroft’s hair again, “So make some more space in that wardrobe.”

“What? No, you’ll get your own wardrobe of course, if my suits hang too close together they get wrinkles that are just impossible to get out. I can’t go around looking unkept, can I?” Mycroft sounded honestly shocked. “But I’m very happy you’re moving in.” He leaned up and pulled on Greg’s tie so he could kiss him.

Greg had to chuckle before he sank into the kiss, sucking and licking on Mycroft’s bottom lip. Only his Mycroft, his prissy little vampire. One day he was going to get his lover into denims and a t-shirt and muss him up then take a picture to keep for himself forever.

Mycroft opened up into the kiss, licking his way into Greg’s mouth and tightening his grip on Greg’s waist. 

Greg hummed and welcomed Mycroft’s tongue with a flick of his own, cupping the back of his head and making a happy hum in the back of his throat. His other hand slipped between them to pluck at the buttons on Mycroft’s waistcoat. He loved seeing Mycroft in the full suits but God he loved peeling each piece off his lover just as much.

Mycroft leaned back in his large, leather office chair to give Greg more access to his clothes even as his own fingers went up to loosen Greg’s tie knot and pull it away from his lover’s neck. Christ he loved that neck, strong, tanned and corded. It was beautiful, just like all of Greg. 

He flicked open the last button on the waistcoat and slipped his hands in under it to run them up the fine linen shirt that fit so wonderfully well to Mycroft’s body. He lifted his mouth from Mycroft’s, pressing a kiss to his lover’s jaw before letting him at his neck. He didn’t know if it was the vampire thing or not but he did know that Mycroft had a kink for his neck and, as it was a rather sensitive area, he was happy to oblige that kink.

Hurriedly unbuttoning several buttons on Greg’s shirt, folding it away from his neck. First he ran his fingers over Greg’s neck, mapping out the hollow of his throat and the elegant line of his collarbone before he let his mouth follow. He ran his lips over the warm skin, letting his tongue flick out and taste and touch.

Greg made an encouraging noise as he unbuttoned Mycroft’s shirt and pulled it open so he could run his hand over the warm skin of his chest. He tweaked a nipple with an impish twist to his lips, savoring the sound it got out of Mycroft.

With a soft growl, Mycroft tightened his arms around Greg and stood up, lifting Greg and depositing him in his chair as he sunk to his knees in front of him, not caring at all about the state of the knees of his designer suit. Mycroft nuzzled the v of Greg’s crotch, mouthing over the clothed bulge, running his tongue along the zipper as he looked up to meet Greg’s eyes.

“God you sexy bastard,” he reached down and ran his finger over Mycroft’s top lip, making a husky groan when that tongue flicked over it before his lover took the digit into his mouth. “Sexy, wicked, and sinful and all I ever want.”

Mycroft sucked at Greg’s finger, letting his tongue flick along the soft pad of it as he unbuckled Greg’s belt and slowly undid his trousers. He released the finger to run the tip of his pointed nose over tented boxer-briefs, blowing hot air on the erection underneath.

“Tease,” it was just a little rough with arousal but affectionate beneath the lust. He shifted just enough to drag one foot along the carpet to pry the shoe off then ran his foot along Mycroft’s calf then up the inside of a thigh.

Mycroft’s grin broke with a moan at the feeling of Greg’s foot along his inner thigh. He hooked his fingers under the elastics of Greg’s underwear and pulled it off and away from Greg’s cock. “You like it when I tease.” It was whispered against the flushed head of the erection in front of him before he swallowed it down. 

“Fucking God Mycroft,” it came out breathlessly, a benediction; almost a title for the man who’s incredibly talented mouth was surrounding his prick. “Never said I didn’t like it, course I do, just remember,” His foot slipped up further, rubbing against the bulge at the junction of Mycroft’s legs, “I like to play back.”

He pulled off Greg’s prick with a wet pop, licking his lips. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.” Mycroft shifted his knees a little to find a more comfortable stance and went back to worship Greg’s erection, licking it up and down before sucking it deep into his throat and swallowing around it. He loved sucking Greg’s cock, loved the taste, the feeling of it sliding against his tongue and filling up his mouth.

“God baby, your lips look good around my cock,” he continued to rub his foot against Mycroft in an echo of his lover’s mouth on him, “almost as good as they feel. Fuck you like this don’t you? Like going down on me in your office, me sitting in your chair, and tomorrow, when you settle down for work, you’re going to remember it won’t you? Remember sucking me off while I’ve got my foot rubbing against your prick.”

Mycroft whined deep in his throat. Yes he loved it, loved it almost as much as he loved Greg talking like that to him. He brought his hands to cup Greg’s balls, massaging them gently as he rubbed himself against Greg’s foot, trying his best to get himself off as he sucked his lover off with all his might.

He groaned gripping the arms of the chair to keep from arching up into Mycroft’s mouth, not wanting to choke him. He was embarrassingly close to coming but he didn’t try to hold himself back from it. “You’re never going to forget this, I’m not either, and I think, some day, that I’m going to corner you in here again, strip you naked, and bend you over your desk to fuck you until you come crying my name then I’ll hit my knees and suck my come out of you. Would you like that baby?”

“Fuck yes.” He pulled off Greg’s dick again, blowing cool air onto it and looked up at Greg with eyes blown wide with arousal. “Also, vampire here...can’t choke me just go for it love, I want you to.” Mycroft licked around the head of Greg’s cock, fitting his tongue into the weeping slit before sliding his lips over it once again.

He hissed and took Mycroft at his word, thrusting up into that wicked mouth as he rubbed his foot faster against his lover’s erection. He didn’t want to be the only one coming here but, if he went off and Mycroft didn’t, it would be easy to slide out of the chair, unzip the vampire’s trousers, slip his hand in, and stroke Mycroft’s cock until he came. He lost himself to sensation, dirty words in three different languages falling from his mouth. He’d never spoken French around Mycroft before but it was slipping out now.

Oh Gods, he would have liked to say it was the rubbing and the sensation of Greg thrusting into his mouth that set him off but if Mycroft was honest with himself it was all about the French. It made him come into his trousers like an untrained teenager as he swallowed desperately around Greg’s prick. 

Greg’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair and he came with a long, low groan, spilling down Mycroft’s throat. “Fuck.” He slumped bonelessly into the chair, eyes on Mycroft as he swallowed down his come until that absolutely sinful mouth slid off him and he felt a hand pulling his foot away from Mycroft’s crotch. 

He was oversensitive after having come and sat down on the floor. Mycroft knew he needed to change clothes but right now he didn’t have the energy to do anything but bask in the afterglow of a mindblowing orgasm. Thankfully he had a spare suit in the office because he wasn’t about to walk through his house with a wet spot on his trousers even if it was his own home. “Gods, where have you hidden away the French?”

“Mm? Oh, well I don’t use it much, grew up hearing it from the whole family all the time so it’s hard to forget. I keep in practice with the Welsh cause it was only Nan speaking it.” Greg smiled at the picture Mycroft made down there. 

“Hmm, still sexy, don’t use it too often or I won’t be responsible for my actions..” Only for Greg would Mycroft let himself be seen sprawled out on the floor, flushed from orgasm with swollen lips and mussed up hair. “Well, we better clean up. I have a meeting with the Chancellor of Exchequer at two...Dreadfully dull chap.”

“Well he’d have to be wouldn’t he?” Greg tucked his prick back into his pants and did his trousers back up. “Dealing with finances all day, boring things.” He stood and held a hand out to Mycroft to help him up.

“Actually it’s quite fascinating.” Mycroft allowed himself to be pulled up and he pressed a kiss to Greg’s lips before looking down at himself with distaste. “Only thing boring about it is him begging for more money as if they don’t have enough already.” Mycroft spoke as if him holding the purse strings for the entire country was just another thing, nothing major. 

Greg laughed, “I’ll take your word for it. Want me to go get you a damp cloth?” It was a solicitous question followed by an absent stroke of his hand down Mycroft’s arm. He knew his lover and knew he wouldn’t leave the office with a damp spot on his trousers if someone had a gun to his head.

“Thank you but I can go into the bathroom and fix myself up.” He nodded toward the adjoining door. “You okay?” He looked Greg over with a critical eye but couldn’t see anything out of order except for Greg’s slightly flushed cheeks. Mycroft reached up and smoothed down Greg’s hair before caressing his cheek lovingly.

“I’m brilliant,” he turned his head to kiss the inside of Mycroft’s wrist. “I love you.”

“I love you too, so very much.” Mycroft’s sluggish pulse jumped beneath Greg’s lips.

Greg smiled and was about to say something more when his phone went off, the tone for Dispatch, and he rolled his eyes, pulling it out with a mutter, “I swear if this is another nuisance case I’m making Donovan clean up roadkill. Lestrade,” he spoke into the phone, nodding at the dispatcher nattering in his ear, “Right, right. On my way.” He snagged his tie from where Mycroft had dropped it to the floor, “Dead body in the East End, unidentified so far. I’ll give you a ring later.”

“Do that please and try not to kill Donovan and Anderson for stupidity, the paperwork to get you off will be so tiresome.” Mycroft didn’t like Greg’s job but he would never even suggest for him to change careers just because Mycroft worried. Greg the DI was the man he had fallen in love with and he would never want to change or control him. 

“If they just had a little less self-preservation they’d have been rolled into the Thames ages ago,” and then Greg could have left his division confident that it was in good hands because the next DS in line for a promotion after Donovan was an intelligent, easy going man who’d out and out told Sally she was on something to be so suspicious of Sherlock. He’d once loved his work but it had grown tedious and not nearly enough of a challenge with too many politics muddying the waters these days. “Take care of my vampire Mycroft,” he gave him a wink, “and I’ll look after your copper.”

“You better, I would be extremely upset if something happened to my copper.” Mycroft leaned in for another kiss before letting go completely. He was getting uncomfortable walking around with come in his underwear and he really did need to clean up before his meeting with Osborne, no way he would start a meeting giving the other man the upper hand.

“I’ll be home soon cariad,” Greg pocketed his phone and left the office to get to work.

_**To be continued…** _


	12. Part Twelve

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; Our boys cuddling, Sherlock’s mind working in its usual ways and Anthea has visited the oracles._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twelve._ **

Sherlock frowned and poked at the light scarring on his side irritably. It didn’t hurt anymore, and the scars would disappear completely given time, he was just massively displeased over having been injured in the first place.

“Don’t poke; you’ll only slow the healing down.” John didn’t look up from the book he was reading. He’d threatened Sherlock if he was to reveal the ending; this was the first book John had enjoyed just for fun for a long time. 

“What healing? They’re only scars now.” He could admit to being a bit petulant over John’s mother-henning as, aside from ‘cuddling’ they’d not done much of anything since having been locked in the closet. It was frustrating to have put himself out there, vulnerable, only to have the reason for it put on hold.

“Yes fine, don’t poke at the scars then, it doesn’t help them going away.” And it was distracting, so very distracting to see all that expanse of skin when he couldn’t do anything. John wanted Sherlock so much and holding himself back was nearly killing him. He wanted to let Sherlock set the pace though and to be fully healed before they did anything.

Sherlock made a disgusted sound and threw himself on the sofa, “Dull. No movement from Moriarty’s people and Lestrade won’t even let me look at the file of the body found in the East End.” There was a fascinating case, a current human John Doe skinned, strung upside down to resemble The Hanged Man from tarot cards. The skin nowhere to be found from what he’d managed to bully out of Lestrade.

“I can ask Greg about the file if you want.” John was a bit worried about the silence from Moriarty’s corner, there was no chance he wouldn’t have seen John visit Murray and even if Moriarty was dead, though John didn’t think so, the surveillance on James Murray was still strong. He couldn’t help to wonder what the other was planning.

What Sherlock wanted was to step out of this strange limbo they were hovering in. He didn’t understand why John wasn’t at least trying to kiss him. Had he changed his mind? Decided that Sherlock wouldn’t be enough or would be too demanding? He was afraid to ask or look deeper and deduce. He needed a distraction if John wouldn’t make a move so, “Yes. Do.”

John nodded and noted the page he was on in the book before closing it and looking at Sherlock. He was going crazy with this standstill, had to do something. “Look, I understand if you’ve changed your mind. Promise I won’t hold anything said in a closet against you but we’re still friends right? This...this thing between us now is just weird.”

“Changed _my_ mind?” Sherlock levered up onto his elbows to glare at John, “You won’t even kiss me, who’s the one changing their mind?”

Blue eyes widened and John dropped the book to the floor. “I wanted to make sure that you were healed, that you wanted it. You said you didn’t want to do anything because you were injured so I’ve been waiting...quite impatiently in fact. I _always_ want you, _all_ the time.”

“I didn’t want to make the bite or anything else _because_ of my injuries, none of which precluded kissing. As I understand it, kissing is a fairly non-strenuous activity. And what, do you think I curl up, put my head on everyone’s lap and let them pet my hair when I’m injured?” He was more likely to bite someone’s hand off but John wasn’t just someone, he was special. Even as much as he liked and even trusted Hettie and Thomas, the few times he’d been in a bad way around them he’d been quite vehement about them staying _away_ from him while he was vulnerable.

Huffing out a breath that was half exasperation and half amusement, John got up from the chair he was sitting in and worked his way to the couch, crawling on top of Sherlock until he was sprawled out on top of him. “You know that the kissing thing goes both ways right? My lips were right here, yours for the taking.” He smiled down at Sherlock and brushed his lips over Sherlock’s chin, cheeks, brow and then lips.

He didn’t need a second invitation, one long fingered hand curling around the back of John’s neck, holding him in place as he pressed his lips more firmly against the hunter’s. It was soft, lazy, and exploratory, learning the texture and shape of John’s lips against his and how to angle his head the right way. The kiss from the closet had been fueled on instinct and desperate emotion, Sherlock still wasn’t certain how it hadn’t been an unmitigated disaster, but this, here with the time and comfort, was different. He could think and was determined to learn how to kiss through experimentation.

It was nice, well it was better than nice it was wonderful kissing Sherlock but it was nice in the way that it was just kissing. There were no expectations of it leading further; in fact John didn’t want it to lead further, not yet. He cupped Sherlock’s face with one hand, rubbing his thumb over a sharp cheekbone as he kept on kissing him, running his tongue over the roof of Sherlock’s mouth, tracing every tooth and let his tongue flick against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock sucked lightly on the invading tongue, mimicked the flick with his, and followed John’s example with more thoroughness when he got his chance to explore his lover’s mouth. His hand wasn’t particularly idle either, though in keeping with the simple nature of the kiss it didn’t wander. Instead his fingers sifted through John’s short, straight hair, played over the back of his neck, and traced his jaw. It was all new to him, even though he could have described John right down to the tiniest spot or wrinkle; it was a new way of learning him, of memorizing him, of burning him permanently into his hard drive.

John hummed softly into Sherlock’s mouth before pulling back to nibble at Sherlock’s plump bottom lip before following his jawline to his earlobe, biting down on it lightly and then pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it. There wasn’t just one way of kissing and John wanted to show Sherlock every way there was. Besides he couldn’t get enough of the other, wanted to kiss every inch of him though he’d settle for this for now.

Sherlock gasped and shivered a bit, John’s mouth and teeth working some sort of heated magic that made his entire body suddenly feel incredibly, intensely _alive_ in a way it never had before. He’d had sex before, many times, but kissing, taking time with someone, this _tenderness_ was something he’d never experienced before and it made his heart beat a little harder in his chest. He tilted his head to give John whatever access he wanted. He explored the breadth of the doctor’s shoulders with his hands, the material of John’s jumper a delight in texture, knobbly but soft.

Oh God, Sherlock tilting his head like that gave him a chance to kiss his way up and down that long throat before reclaiming Sherlock’s lips. “I love you.”

He hummed against John’s lips then nuzzled his nose; he clung, in a wholly innocent way to John. He couldn’t return the words, no matter how much he felt them, not yet.

Once his lips were nearly numb from all the kissing, John smiled against Sherlock’s lips. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s slim torso and buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, just holding him.

Sherlock made a soft sigh, returning the hold just as strongly, perhaps more strongly, as his mind eased, calmed. The frustration faded away, reassurance slipping in, and he could settle with a little quiet for a while. John did that for him. Somehow immersing himself into everything _John_ could give him a peace he’d searched for far too long.

Usually John would worry about being too heavy but since Sherlock was who he was, John knew he could take it. He felt Sherlock relax underneath him and held him a little tighter. He was still concerned about Moriarty’s silence but for now everything was right in his world. As long as he could hold Sherlock nothing was very bad.

The vampire’s fingers began to trail in lazy patterns over John’s jumper covered back, never able to be completely still. Delicate trills of music played in his head, nothing desperate to be written down and all of it would be remembered, and his mind was making connections, piecing things together once more with perfect efficiency. “Too slow...the wrong leader.”

“What?” John lifted his head from the crook of Sherlock’s neck so he could look down at him curiously. “What leader? What’s too slow?” He knew that nothing Sherlock said was nonsense but he wondered what that amazing mind had come up with now.

“There’s been no response from your visit to Murray, working too slow for Moriarty. The wrong leader is at the head of the organization now.” Sherlock’s fingers continued fiddling over John’s sweater. “Moriarty’s human, he won’t heal like a member of the Underground. He wouldn’t even heal like you John and he did shoot himself in the head. It’s not him calling the shots right now, two months since the rooftop; he’s still in a hospital bed if he’s still alive.”

The more John thought about it the more it made sense. Of course. Even if Moriarty had known exactly how to angle the shot to keep it from being lethal or give him brain damage it would still take time for him to heal. “And Moran’s like me, a soldier, we follow orders, we’re not good at giving them. Moriarty’s network must be in limbo, especially if he is still allowed, no one is the proper leader then, everyone will just be waiting...Brilliant, you are absolutely brilliant.”

“I’m slow. It should have occurred to me sooner.” He was a bit disgusted with himself. “By the way, you are good at giving orders; you are a Captain after all, very honorably discharged. Moran is likely good at giving orders but not at planning out actions and I doubt he thinks much on the collateral damage.” 

"No I doubt he cares much about collateral at all, and you can only be good at giving orders as long as you have people willing to follow them. Moran is as you say not a strategist, he doesn't have the foresight." John raked his fingers through Sherlock's hair, a silent demand that he shouldn't be too hard on himself, he still figured it out quicker than anyone else and John was still impressed with him.

“He likely has orders to sit and wait and only take action if there’s an immediate need for response. Limbo, the entire organization is in limbo so long as Moriarty is down. That’s an advantage for us,” he turned unconsciously into the stroke, “If we’re careful we could bring the entire organization down within a month. Too many moving parts in stasis make for a vulnerable structure. But first we need to locate Moriarty; I need to find out if Anthousa spoke to the oracles.”

"Anthousa?" John's brow furrowed in confusion as he got up on his knees to get off Sherlock, this wasn't the time for cuddles, not when Sherlock was in his thinking mode. John already felt the loss of contact but there would be time to touch Sherlock later, they had time.

“Anthea, her real name is Anthousa, she loathes it,” Sherlock sat up, ghosting his fingers over John’s neck in a final touch before getting up. He went into the bedroom and began dressing, leaving the door open, “She’s a nymph, a dryad to be specific, with familial ties to Delphi.”

“Huh.” John had to admit he was surprised. Anthea’s shields must be excellent; he had sensed that she was Underground but not that she was a dryad. “I bet you call her Anthousa every chance you get if she loathes it. Have you ever gotten her to look up from her phone? Is that how she contacts the oracles as well? Via Blackberry?”

“No, oracles must be contacted in person, some old rule I never saw a need for looking into. I’ve gotten her to look up from it twice and of course I call her by her proper name as often as I can,” he finished buttoning his shirt and bent to wiggle his shoes on, “She’s been Mycroft’s assistant for the last five centuries since she coshed a lucky hunter with delusions of grandeur over the head during some drunken revel in Athens.”

John chuckled, imagining how that would have played out. “I’m not even going to ask what Mycroft was up to in Athens five hundred years ago...I’ve given up on understanding any of his reasoning. Having a hotline to the oracles must be useful though.”

“Only when she’s willing to go speak to them. They have issues with her being in a vampire’s employ,” he shrugged into a suit jacket, “Imagine every insufferable Nona in the world all bundled into one being, given the sensibilities of the Dark Ages, and then cloned seventeen times and you have a rough approximation of Anthousa’s family.”

“Damn and I thought mine was bad. I can see why she has doubts contacting them but I hope she has this time, it could really be of help.” John was still on the couch since he was already fully dressed, jumper and all.

“She generally does when Mycroft asks but there is always the possibility of refusal. Let’s go annoy my brother and find out.”

“Annoying your brother is always a highlight of the day.” Besides, John hadn’t completely forgiven him for the tranq and grab yet though he was pleased with the outcome of it. Some things you just didn’t do but Mycroft seemed to lack all sort of boundaries. He got off the couch and stepped into his shoes, ready to follow Sherlock as he always did.

“It should be a highlight of anyone’s day,” Sherlock’s eyes gleamed a bright, excited blue as he pulled open the door, eager to start working again.

John couldn’t help the smile that spread over his features as he followed Sherlock down the hallways of the manor, he loved Sherlock like this, bursting with energy, it nearly crackled around him.

Sherlock knocked once perfunctorily on Mycroft’s office door then opened it to the sight of his brother rolling his eyes as he hung up the phone. “Busy day Mycroft?”

“Always little brother.” Mycroft leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “So what gives me the honor of seeing you two in my office?” 

“What else, Moriarty.” He draped himself into a chair, “It occurred to me this morning, that he’s still likely to be in a hospital bed, or the equivalent of it in whatever safehouse he’s holed up in. We need to take him out, completely, because without him it will only take one or two little taps for his entire organization to fold in on itself. Especially right now with his little pet sniper running the business.”

Mycroft’s eyes lit with interest and he nearly leaned forward in his chair...nearly. He liked watching organizations fall like dominoes, it was always entertaining and it would only be better if Moriarty woke up to find his empire in shambles. “Any suggestions where to place those taps?”

“Oh perhaps a few,” he crossed his legs, “Did Anthousa consult Delphi or are we to pick safehouses and sneak through each one to locate Moriarty until we find him?”

John leaned against the wall, watching two genius brother interact was amusing and just watching both their body language said so much more than what they actually vocalized, it was intriguing. 

“She went to Delphi which was a terrible inconvenience since she wasn’t _here_ but I don’t know what she was told. She’s been grumpy since her return so I implore you to be civil to her if you are to speak with her. Don’t call her Anthousa.”

“As I need what information she was riddled I shall refrain for today,” he quirked up a brow, “So if you would please request her presence.”

Mycroft raised a matching brow but pressed the intercom button all the same. “Anthea, could you please come in here please.” He knew better than to treat her with anything other than respect, she was a formidable woman and Mycroft couldn’t do without her, her wit and skills was a large part of what kept his shadow empire afloat.

It didn’t take long before the dryad came in, attention still on her phone, “Yes sir?”

“I was wondering what you learned in Delphi, if it is something you can tell us of course.” Some information from the oracles was not to be shared; Mycroft hoped that this wasn’t one of those times. 

John tilted his head and looked at the beautiful woman, what was she doing on that phone all day? He briefly entertained the fantasy of ripping it from her just to see what would happen but he valued his life too much, he had just gotten Sherlock after all, he wanted time to love him.

She stilled, fingers tightening on the phone. She’d gotten information, some she could share, the rest she couldn’t. It bothered her more deeply than she liked because it affected Mycroft as well. There were moments she really hated the oracles, even the ones who were her sisters. She lowered the phone, slipping it inside her pocket. Relaying a riddle from Delphi required some respect be observed. “They gave a riddle, of course, beyond simply the location of Moriarty.”

Sherlock sat up, attentive and ready to memorize whatever she’d say, “What did they say Anthea?”

She gave him a look that spoke volumes about knowing that he was placating her but took a deep breath before relating the riddle, “The Wounded Spider and his Watchful Tiger lie in the shadow of the oldest stones.

Clever Searcher  
Walls so high  
Tumble down and break the sky  
Seek your shelter, trust your heart  
Fear it not or forever part.

Healer Hunter  
Stand your ground  
Beaten, battered, tied and bound  
Hold it hard, your precious gift  
Take your soul and mend the rift

Leader Lover  
Mask of cold  
Let your Fox be brave and bold  
Hold your tongue, the serpent’s there  
Nestled deep inside your lair

Patient Fox  
Leave behind  
The twisted den of the Blind  
Guard, defend, and shield the night  
Your strength is needed for this fight

The Battle’s hard  
Much to lose  
Should you not ignore the ruse

Love gives strength though the price be high  
Trust in it, the End is nigh.”

John was no genius but even he could recognize elements of the riddle and it did not sound as easy as they might have hoped to bring down Moriarty.

Mycroft’s jaw twitched, the information was not quite what he’d hoped for but forewarned were forearmed and all that rot. “Thank you Anthea, both for traveling to Delphi and for relaying the information to us, it’s greatly appreciated.”

“Hmm, yes,” Sherlock’s eyes were narrowed and his hands steepled in their thinking pose. “Thank you. It’s an ogre by the way; use that to keep her off your roots.”

Anthea managed to school her expression into neutrality though inside she was almost gagging at the thought of her mother dating an ogre. She pulled her phone back out, “I will keep that in mind. Is there anything else you need sir?” The last was addressed to Mycroft.

“No, not right now, thank you.” Mycroft would have suggested that she’d take the rest of the day off but he knew she would take that as a deep insult so he kept his mouth shut. 

She nodded once and left the office to the three men. Sherlock just scowled into space, “We’ve an adder in the nest Mycroft.”

Mycroft nodded, grim-faced. He hated the thought of one of his men being a spy. He didn’t surround himself with anyone he didn’t trusted and as old as he was the thought of someone breaking that trust hurt. More than that it pissed him off.

Sherlock couldn’t say he felt particularly enjoyed hearing the bit about himself, Clever Searcher, no one else it could be but him. Trust his heart, what else was he doing slipping into a relationship with John? Wasn’t that trusting his heart? But he liked John’s part of the riddle even less. Beaten and bound? He met John’s gaze, “Kidnapping?”

“Could be yes.” John wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure what it all meant but he knew he could handle it. Bring it on, if it made Moran show his hand then he could take it.

“Let’s take it piece by piece, the wounded spider and the tiger are obviously Moriarty and Moran. They’re in one of the henge safehouses.”

“Mmm but which one? Stonehenge or Avebury?” John ran his tongue over his teeth. “If we trust Adler’s information I would say Stonehenge. During the end...She had no reason to lie.”

Mycroft hummed. “That could be just what Moriarty wanted her to believe though. I don’t think we can take anything at face value.”

“Oldest stones...ones that have been standing longer or the ones that are from the oldest deposit, that’s the question,” Sherlock rubbed his lips with his index fingers, “Healer Hunter is very obviously John.” His foot jiggled, “You, Mycroft, would be the Leader and it sounds as though you’ll have to let Lestrade do...something.”

“I don’t _let_ Greg do anything, he would be very upset if he heard you say that.” Mycroft smiled but it was a tense smile, he wanted to keep Greg safe but from the sounds of the riddle it sounded as if that wouldn’t be possible. 

“Get off it Mycroft. if you were to express concern and ask him not to...whatever, he’d stand down, because he loves you and would sooner shoot himself in the foot than do something to worry you enough to have you asking him not to do it.” Sherlock stared into space, “And this serpent...we’ll have to limit discussion of plans to us, Lestrade, and Anthousa for safety’s sake won’t we.”

Mycroft tapped his fingers against the gleaming wood of his desk. Sherlock was right but that didn’t mean he had to like it, in fact he rarely liked Sherlock being right when it regarded him. “I’ll do what the riddle says and hold my tongue when it comes to Greg.” It would nearly kill him but he would do it. “You are right though, all battle plans should stay between the five of us.” Mycroft also didn’t like limitations but in this there was no other choice.

Sherlock nodded, “Considering that, there’s the bit about Lestrade, or perhaps the better term is for Lestrade.”

“What’s for me?” Greg had just opened the office door, having been nodded past by Anthea who was standing a sort of guard at the door. He was damp from and emergency shower after getting home from finally semi-solving the case.

“We’ve had some interesting news. I think you should sit down, I sort of wish I had.” John was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, soldier face on. 

Mycroft told him the riddle and what they had spoken of so far, his face stony even in front of his lover.

Lestrade’s expression went from curious to furious before settling into what Sherlock privately thought of as his Guardian expression. That was what Lestrade was by nature, a guardian, someone built to look after the people, to protect in the most upstanding way possible even though he could, if necessary for the greatest good, delve into the shadows. And right now all of Lestrade’s ‘protect’ instinct was humming and growling at the warnings in the riddle.

“Some lousy bastard is betraying you,” he sat on the corner of Mycroft’s desk, his hand going automatically to cover his lover’s. How _dare_ someone try and knife Mycroft in the back?

“Yes apparently so.” Mycroft turned his hand so that his and Greg’s were palm to palm. “We don’t have any idea of how much information that has already been passed on but I think it is safe to say that at least Moran knows all about Sherlock being alive and kicking. About who we are as well... _what_ we are. All of us.” He gave a pointed nod in John’s direction. “The moment we found out you were a hunter, so did they presumably.” 

Greg ignored the dangerous sounding growl Sherlock made, knowing that if he was capable of growling like a rabid wolf at the thought of someone out to hurt Mycroft knowing about his deepest secrets he would. “Well doesn’t this just make my day even more fun-filled?” It was sarcasm at its finest, “Can’t say I’m insulted at the title of Fox though. What’s this ‘night’ I’m supposed to be defending?”

Sherlock shrugged, “There are several possibilities. Protecting something for one night, protecting during every night, the old phrase for members of the Underground.”

“We are all stumbling around half blind here, Gods I hate riddles, what’s wrong with just saying what you mean and be done with it?” John walked forward and leaned against the back of the chair Sherlock was sitting in, stroking the back of the vampire’s neck lightly. “My guess is the night refers to you two, you and Mycroft, creatures of the night though you’re anything but.”

“I don’t know about that,” Greg pursed his lips, “Riddles are funny things.”

“And what do you know about riddles Lestrade?” Sherlock looked at the DI curiously.

“I happen to be very blessed with Welsh blood you berk. The number of Welsh tales with riddles in them would blow even your mind. That bit of the riddle was for me, and these oracles have a knowing of when the one the riddle’s meant for is going to hear it right?”

Mycroft nodded. “That’s supposed to be the case yes and since the oracles are much, much older than I am and quite a bit more testy as well, who am I to doubt them?” Mycroft didn’t particularly like the oracles, just as they weren’t overly fond of him of his kind for that matter but they could be useful...In their irritably confusing way.

“Well then maybe I should tell you how my night and early morning went,” Greg was hyper aware of having the unwavering attention of all three men.

“You think the case you were called to have something to do with it?” John leaned forward, nearly leaning his chin on top of Sherlock’s curly head. 

“Please tell us if you will. Anything is helpful at this point.” Mycroft trusted Greg and he knew the man was intelligent, we would very much like to hear what his mate, or at least he hoped Greg would become his mate, had to say.

Sherlock’s eyes were picking apart everything he could about Greg but, having just had a shower, there wasn’t much there to deduce. “You were in a mess.”

“Got absolutely covered in snotty green goo spewed from what I’m actually hoping was the nose of some sort of very ugly giant sort of mix between a caterpillar and a slug.”

Mycroft exchanged a look with his brother. “A Hiruko monster in London? There are very strict rules about dealing with those, very rare, very expensive for those in the trade.”

“And your hope is in vain Lestrade. It sounds as though you were vomited on, take heart in that you’ll find yourself very fortunate for several days.”

“Yeah that’s what the troll said.” Greg wrinkled his nose at the vomit comment, “The fortunate bit I mean. To start from the beginning, I followed a lead into the old sewer tunnels, our tarot killer was your run of the mill human who’d had a psychotic break. He’d found this, Hiruko you called it?” He got a nod from Mycroft, “Right well he found this Hiruko when it was a lot smaller and thought it would make a decent pet. I don’t know the entire progression but he wound up feeding it the skin of people who’d pissed him off, skinned them and usually dumped them but then he found some fortune teller who supposedly told him to follow the path of the Major Arcana. So what does he do? He strings his next victim up like the Hanged Man.” He looked irritated about that bit, royally so.

“So he finds a monster, even a small version and keeps it as a pet...How does one even think of feeding such a thing the skin of people one kills? I just wonder, really honestly wonder.” John’s eyes were wide. The human mind still baffled him, much more than any non-human considered a monster could.

“You walked into the sewers without back-up?” That was Mycroft’s primary concern. “Where were your so called colleagues?”

“I had back up. I went in with DS Gregson, we got separated, the rest of the unit was out following less pungent leads Donovan had dug up,” personally he was doing an internal dance over Sally screwing up further because all of those leads had been shit. “Plus it was supposed to be a lead on where this guy was buying peyote of all things, not where he was living. Long story short, I found him, high out of his mind and giggling, cuffed him, then went to investigate a noise like a bloody dying whale from the room he’d stumbled out of in case he had another victim.”

“Indigestion,” Sherlock provided, “Likely fed the Hiruko the wrong kind of skin.”

Greg snorted, “Right. Well I’m not exactly used to seeing giant slug-caterpillars in a cage so when I saw the bloody thing I just froze, long enough for it to spew all over me. Then the troll came in, looked mighty amused too.”

“Troll?” John was seriously beginning to question what was living beneath his feet. He knew there were much more walking the earth than mere humans but really? Trolls and slug monsters in the sewers of London, that was just stretching it wasn’t it? 

“Well I’m guessing he was a troll since he looks like the ones my Nan used to talk about when she went all gushy about this Scandinavian adventure she went on once. Big, furry pointy ears, great big round nose, tail, nubby little horns, little hairier than your average bloke, though he was in a uniform. Black with a moon and stars patch on the arm. Carried a badge, Lieutenant Edricsen of the Underground Guardians, Department for Violations of Creature Regulation. Polite once he noticed my smell under the goo,” he gave Mycroft a pointed, amused look.

“Well you can hardly expect me to let you walk around unmarked now can you? Besides, it’s sort of an effect of the biting.” Mycroft met Greg’s gaze steadily. “Did Lietentant Edricsen handle the Hiruko then? Arrange with transport and that sort of thing?” He hoped the troll had things under control, getting a giant creature out unnoticed was always a pain in the arse frankly. 

“Yeah and that was an interesting trip, never knew there was a tunnel guarded by Revenants leading to a secret sort of police force in the sewers.” He wasn’t angry about the scent marking, he’d just have liked for Mycroft to have told him before now, “Because the killer had been raising the Hiruko for a solid three years and dealing with a skinwalker drug dealer, apparently that made him the UG’s jurisdiction. Got to say they’re a fair lot though, felt I had the right to see the bastard processed, plus they needed my statement and a sample of the goo.”

“As intriguing as this all is and don’t get me wrong, it really, really is, I don’t get what it has to do with the riddle or anything else we have to deal with except that you were apparently sicked up on by a good fortune monster.” John didn’t mean to be rude but he didn’t get it.

“I’m getting to that,” Greg stretched his neck, “After I had goo sampled and scraped off me, the...well I’m guessing she’s the UG equivalent to the NYS Commissioner, sat me down and offered me a job. Handed me a card for future contact, the UG’s motto seems to be Noctis Defensores.”

Mycroft hummed. “Night’s defenders, sounds like you should quit the NSY and take the job offer then.” He couldn’t say he was exactly pleased, Greg would only switch one set of bad guys for another but Greg was a guardian, a defender and Mycroft wouldn’t and couldn’t take that away from him.

“Yeah, maybe. Can’t say the job doesn’t sound appealing because damn things are a fuck load more clear cut in your world ba-” he cut himself off before the endearment could slip out, “Mycroft.” He gave Sherlock the warning look of death if he dared make a comment on the slip.

Mycroft’s look was scathing too as it landed on his brother, Sherlock looked much too gleeful for his own good. “Once the curtain is pulled so to speak what you see is mostly what you get, though what you see might seem unbelievable.”

“Well said.” John’s tone was dry. “I say, if working at the Yard is making you miserable, quit...I quit the clinic...after some advice.”

Sherlock was looking unbearably smug so Greg picked up a sheet of paper, balled it up, and launched it at Sherlock’s head, “I want to, no bones about that. I’ve _been_ wanting to for a while now.”

Sherlock had caught the paper and was now folding it into a complicated shape, “You’re staying because you don’t want Donovan to lead the unit.”

“Be the worst thing to ever happen to my division,” Greg nodded, “I may not like my job anymore but by God those are my men in that unit and I’ll be fucked over sideways in a collar and spreader bars before I let Donovan take over and lead them all into dangerous situations on little to no information.”

Spreader bars were not really his thing, if bondage was involved then Mycroft preferred silk ropes but a collar, not the point but you couldn’t blame his mind from going in that direction when Greg directed it there. “So if Sally Donovan was taken out of the equation, you wouldn’t mind leaving your current position?” Removing Donovan wouldn’t be much trouble; she had already so kindly applied the rope to hang herself with.

“Pretty much, yeah. With her transferred out of my division or even just quitting than Gregson is the one who’ll get the promotion to DI.”

“Hm, he’s marginally clever.” Coming from Sherlock that was practically gushing approval.

“Well then.” In Mycroft’s mind it was already a done deal, Donovan would be out so Greg could move on to what would make him happier professionally. It was time for the folder he had on Donovan and her many mistakes to find its way to the top of the Yard.

Greg just gave him an amused look before looking back at Sherlock, “So Moriarty’s convalescing in a safehouse near Stonehenge or the Avebury stones?”

“Yes. It’s a sound plan for hiding from us or several other Underground species. Both sites and their surrounding areas are in a vortex of metaphysical energy, interferes with our senses.” Sherlock jiggled his foot, “It’s an irritation.”

Oh, John could imagine that it was an irritation, anything that muddled Sherlock’s senses was worse than horrible. “I just wonder what safehouse to go after, any gut-feeling since you are our lucky boy then?” John looked over at Greg.

“Probably Avebury. The stones there have been standing longer than Stonehenge, it’s further away from London, less obvious of a choice if you’re after some vortex woo-woo, not as many people spout off about it as they do Stonehenge so it’s probably not as strong a thing.”

“You’re in sparkling form today Lestrade. Quite correct, the Avebury vortex is weaker than Stonehenge’s, you will not find a single Underground member who’s senses are negatively affected by a vortex near living Stonehenge but there are a few in the Avebury vortex’s range. Not that they’re considered functioning members of society, the vortex makes them drunk after long term exposure.” 

“Mmm, after a while they don’t want to leave, it’s both dangerous and addictive to some.” Mycroft nodded, he couldn’t understand why some would knowingly and willingly melt their brains on a vortex but to each their own as long as he didn’t have to clean up the mess. “Avebury, we can’t simply rush in. I would send a scout but since I don’t know who to trust among my own staff that is slightly complicated.”

“I can go.” John was still leaning on the back of Sherlock’s chair. “My senses will not be muddled there and I’m used to scouting missions, you have no idea how often those ends in need of a medic in the army.”

Sherlock’s hands tensed, a muscle ticked in his jaw, and his eyes turned a steely gray but he didn’t protest. He saw the logic in John being the one to go. That didn’t mean he had to like it. “Absolutely no radio silence and only after we’ve planned out several approaches should one fail.”

“Agreed, we need a solid working plan and several back up ones before anyone goes. No charging ahead.” Mycroft nodded.

“I’m never going to live that down am I?” It wasn’t really a question, John was aware that he had messed up.

“Since you behaved in an utterly unintelligent way, no.” Mycroft’s tone was slightly smug.

Greg squeezed Mycroft’s hand before telling John, “Not a chance in hell mate.”

Sherlock’s eyes were on John’s face, “Never.” If John ever ‘lived it down’ then he would forget and possibly do it again.

“Fine, I was a tit, I admit it. I do know what I’m doing though and I won’t go anywhere until we know how to proceed.” John sighed and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair just to touch him some way, to ground himself. Going to see James Murray had been stupid, the fact that Mycroft could tranq him without him having a chance to react proved that.

Greg watched Sherlock move into the touch like a cat bumping its owner’s hand for more attention and chuckled at the warning look the consulting detective gave him, “Mycroft and I will work on plans then.”

Sherlock raised a brow.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re good at scaring out serial killers, thieves, and the like but you are absolute _pants_ at planning out an op.”

“It’s true; all the running across London with John here proves that.” Mycroft looked at his little brother. “You both rush straight in head first and that will not work here.” He didn’t say anything about the mess Sherlock was already in after his last dealings with Moriarty, Mycroft figured that the results of that spoke for themselves, without him adding salt to the wounds.

Sherlock didn’t have the hear it to know what Mycroft was thinking and he ground his teeth. Oh he hated it. He positively loathed that his brother and Lestrade were right. And they were, not only were they skilled at planning out ops, they had experience. “Very well.” It was clipped and begrudging acceptance but acceptance nonetheless.

“You and I can read up on the vortexes and their effects or you can tell me all about them if it is something you already know perfectly in that massive brain of yours.” John continued his petting of Sherlock’s hair without even thinking about it.

“Of course I know about them. I did extensive research some time ago.” Sherlock felt himself relaxing with John’s touch, a bit embarrassing, especially in front of his brother but he had ammunition in the form of the pet name Lestrade almost let slip.

“Yes of course you did but I haven’t so you can teach me so I know what I will be walking into.” John’s voice was his normal, calm reasonable tones. He might not be affected but it would be helpful to know just what a vortex did because he had no idea. Except for his different deployments with the Her Majesty’s Army he had always been a city boy.

Seeing the effect Dr. Watson had on Sherlock made Mycroft certain that he had made the right choice with the snatch and grab of John and the lock up that followed.

“Is that all for now?” Greg lazily stretched his neck, “Or are there other things that need to be hammered out immediately?”

“I do not believe that any further discussions would be of use at the moment.” Mycroft replied. Right now they couldn’t do much more, he still wanted to ponder the riddle a little bit more before making any major decisions and he believed that Sherlock probably wanted the same. Besides they all needed rest, especially Greg since he’d been out working all night. Mycroft didn’t know how much rest he would get until this was sorted, he would obsess over the traitor in his midst. 

“Alright then. John, Sherlock, bugger off.” Greg had to keep from snickering at the startled looks he got, “Unless you want to watch me take shameless advantage of Mycroft right h-” he broke into laughing cackles at the other two were out of the office so fast they left a breeze.

“You know that they are going to find a way to make you pay for that right? Especially Sherlock, he does not like to be startled...And I believe he would like to see me amorous even less.” Mycroft knew he would not like to view his brother in that light, never ever. 

Greg leaned in to brush his lips briefly over Mycroft’s, “I think we can manage to handle it.” He pulled back, one hand smoothing down a bit of Mycroft’s hair that had dared to fall out of place, “And it was the fastest way to get them out.” He grew serious, “This riddle, something’s going to happen to John and if Sherlock doesn’t drop his guard...”

“I know.” Mycroft clenched his hands before forcing them to relax. “Sherlock has built those walls around himself for longer than you can imagine. He did it to survive and I don’t know if he will be able to lower them...even for John’s sake.” He was worried, very, very worried.

And if they lost John, they’d lose Sherlock and Greg didn’t know if Mycroft could recover from that. He kissed his lover’s brow, “We’ll keep an eye on everything.”

“Mm, I always do.” Mycroft just hoped that it would be enough, that planning and watching would work, that he would be able to keep everyone safe, everyone that mattered to him. He leaned into his lover. “I love you.”

“I love you too baby,” He ran a hand up and down Mycroft’s back soothingly. He sent a prayer to whoever might be listening that something would let Sherlock bring his walls down for John and that it wouldn’t be too damaging.

_**To be continued…** _


	13. Part Thirteen

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; mother Holmes makes her appearance. Pissy BAMF!John and sexual happenings between our stubborn boys._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Thirteen._ **

Sherlock was getting absolutely twitchy as he continued explaining vortexes to John in-between short bouts of composing. “Anyone with abilities, human or not, feels a vortex, it affects them some way. Vampires, incubi, succubi, any sort of Underground species that feeds off of a living being wind up with the drunk or drugged effect.”

John listened and made mental notes at what Sherlock taught him. He knew the other was getting restless and he shared those feelings but this was an occasion where charging forward would do more harm than good. “What sort of affect will it have on me as a hunter? I know it will not muddle my mind but will it do something else?”

“Yes. Your senses will increase, exponentially. It would be the same effect as a long lasting dose of Hunter’s Rush,” he named a drug that many hunters used to supposedly up their game, “without the crash afterwards and long term damaging effects.”

“Hmm.” John hummed, he had never personally tried Hunter’s Rush but he knew the effects of it. It could be both a good and a bad thing to feel that high in his senses when on a mission. It was easy to get overconfident, John had seen that happen to both soldiers and hunters and it never ended well. The moment you thought you were better than you were, you would lose. 

“You’ll get the reflex increase as well,” Sherlock brought his violin up to play through a short set of notes that, while happy, held an undertone of ominous portent.

“Well I can certainly use every advantage I can get, even on a recon mission.” Faster reflexes would help him move and stay hidden better and if he was caught he could use the edge. 

Sherlock made a hum that rose with the violin notes and stopped playing to mark down the music on the composition that was growing beyond the original title. “You’ll need to be extra careful outside the recon as well. Many hunters live on vortexes because of the sensory increase. If you run into one they’ll know that you’re ‘consorting’ with vampires.”

“I will be careful but I will never be ashamed of ‘consorting’ with vampires as you put it. I am in love with an amazing man and I am proud of that.” John looked up at Sherlock. “I’m already a black sheep among my kin, it’s not just my family who has turned their backs on me, something more for them to be horrified over won’t make a difference to me.”

“It is not them being horrified that concerns me,” Sherlock set his violin to the side, “It is the possibility of them being homicidal.”

“They probably will be if they catch me.” John saw no reason to lie, it was what it was. “If I can’t kick a fellow hunter’s arse though then I deserve to be caught.”

“ _Don’t_ say that,” Sherlock’s expression grew thunderous. In the last three days since the riddle he’d grown more and more sensitive to the thought of John being in danger. He was on edge about it because the final line of his part of the riddle made it clear that there was a high probability of John dying. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m sorry.” John rose from his seat and walked over to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around him from behind. “I promise I’m not making light of the situation, humor was what kept us going in Afghanistan and I suppose it’s stuck. If I walk into this, thinking I can’t win...well that’s just as dangerous as thinking you’re invincible.”

Sherlock leaned back into him, letting himself relax despite the fear swimming through him. He’d always known, from the moment John had asked if people just assumed he was the murderer, that John was important, the most important being to him in existence, but he’d never guessed how much he’d grow to _need_ the doctor. And it was a need, a desperate, frightening need that had driven his biological processes into complete stasis. He’d mimicked sleep and feeding for John’s sake but he’d done neither since Anthousa had given them the riddle. “I just want you safe.”

“I will be.” John had his doubts to be honest but he’d never voice them out loud. “I’ll be just fine and so will you.” John squeezed his arms around Sherlock, pulling the other man against himself. 

The vampire turned so he could bend and bury his face in the crook of John’s neck, ignoring the entirely too tempting scent of blood thrumming beneath the skin. “So long as you’re alright I will be too.” If anything ever happened to John though...he’d simply find the closest hunter clan and offer himself up for slaughter.

One hand went up to cup the back of Sherlock’s neck and the other one stayed around the other’s waist. John was worried about Sherlock, much more than he worried about himself. “Gods I loathe waiting, it’s always worse than the actual deal.” He wanted this over, wanted them to be able to get over with their lives, wanted to spend his time loving Sherlock and not getting ready for battle.

Sherlock made a soft sound of agreement. “I want to go home.” It was sentiment but he longed for the familiar rooms of 221b and Mrs. Hudson chirping that she wasn’t their housekeeper despite acting like it.

“Me too.” Baker Street was home in a way nothing else had been. John was aware that it was because of Sherlock that it was home but he still missed it. This place...it was slowly eating away at his nerves. He wanted privacy, a kitchen, even if it was filled with body parts and experiments, turn on the kettle and have a cuppa in his own chair. 

Sherlock nuzzled John’s neck a bit then straightened up, “In leathers and a helmet no one would recognize me, let’s get out on the motorbike.”

John’s eyes lit up. “Please let’s.” He needed to get out and he could think of few better things than to share his passion of riding motorcycles with Sherlock. “Not sure I can survive the sight of you in leathers but I shall do my very best.”

“I am moderately skilled at CPR, I’m certain I could resuscitate you should you have a myocardial infarction.” His hand wrapped around John’s wrist and be pulled him out of the room, heading down through the house for the garage.

Chuckling, John followed happily, giving one of the minions the two-fingered salute as he glowered from a corner. 

Sherlock ignored the glaring moron and they’d made it to the main hall when a far too familiar voice made him freeze in his tracks.

“Darling it is my prerogative to come visit whenever I like. Really, you’ve never made a fuss about it before. Besides I want to meet your beau.”

Sherlock turned his head to see the elegant woman, dark hair in a chignon, Westwood dress perfectly fitting on her, and an indulgent smile on bright red lips, smiling at Mycroft, who was looking decidedly stressed. He was grateful that the stairs hid him and John from her view and began backing up, hoping she’d not notice he was anywhere in the vicinity.

John gave Sherlock a worried glance as they backed away slowly. Sherlock looked even paler than usual; he wondered what the hell was going on.

“Mother, I always make a fuss when you show up unannounced, you just never listen to me.” Mycroft was nearly sweating. A visit from his mother was bad on normal occasions, this time it was nothing but a catastrophe. 

“Of course not. You’re my baby boy. I have to make sure you’re healthy and safe,” her head turned as footsteps caught her attention, “Oh is it that you’ve other guests you silly boy?”

Sherlock froze again as the heels clicked in their direction as she moved around the staircase. He took precious seconds to force his body into the haughty cold demeanor he cultivated for the likes of Anderson then released John’s wrist, knowing that if he showed the slightest dependence on anything, she’d smell it like a shark smells blood in the water.

He watched her round the stairs and saw the moment she recognized him, her face going from pleasantly polite to angry, disgusted, and hateful in an instant.

John saw too and it made his blood boil, he was no idiot, he had figured out who the beautiful but cold woman was and for anyone to look at Sherlock that, much less his mother was wrong, wrong, wrong. He couldn’t help but turn every thorn outwards and his hunter side was flaring, just looking for an excuse to go after this woman.

“Mother.” Mycroft sounded hesitant as he followed his mother, he never sounded hesitant but his mother brought out every weakness he had.

Ice blue eyes looked over at Mycroft, “Still taking in ragged strays I see darling.”

Sherlock shifted, just a bit, “The advantage of a ragged stray, Mother,” he managed not to flinch when eyes filled with blazing hatred swung toward him, “is their unwavering loyalty. Pampered pedigreed creatures do tend to turn on their caregivers.”

Gods how he hated this, the constant confrontations and needling that happened when Mother and Sherlock were in the same room together. Mycroft could juggle nations blindfolded but he was useless when it came to family. All he ever did was try to keep Mother and Sherlock away from each other as much as he could. “Mother, if you just come with me...” By the look on John’s face, Mother would soon have a very angry hunter at her throat.

She ignored him, and John as well, too focused on Sherlock’s presence to bother examining the human behind the thing that had ruined her matebond. “Perhaps but one can at least be assured of lesser chance for genetic mistakes and freakish mutation in the case of a pedigree.”

“And what does that say about our family tree then?” Sherlock’s smile was sharp and fanged.

Violet Holmes’ lips pulled back in a disgusted sneer, “You are not family. You’re a whelp that should never have existed.”

“Enough!” John couldn’t grow the way vampires did but he came pretty damn close as he herded Sherlock behind himself and got straight up in Violet Holmes’ face. “Sherlock has family, family that loves him and cares, I doubt you can say the same you bloody ice hearted bitch. Leave off, if I hear another poisonous word from your lips I _will_ hurt you.”

“John,” Sherlock caught his arm, warmth and surprise flooding him at the defense, and the utterly startled expression on his mother’s face followed by a very slight flicker of fear had a small part of him smirking in glee. Until Violet drew herself up and looked down her nose at John.

“A hunter,” she cocked a brow, “typical. Do feel free to try, and see your entire clan, as well as yourself, eradicated. Hunters are already stepping on thin ice with the Underground Council after all.”

“Try me...Please do try me. I’m a soldier, I don’t give a fuck about the Council, when you’re dead you are dead and you will be very much dead. You are old and strong but I promise you that I am stronger.” Sherlock’s grip on his arm was the only thing having kept John from already having lunged at the woman in front of him. The only time he had ever felt rage like this before had been with Moriarty and this woman was even worse, she was supposed to love Sherlock, not hurt him. “As for my clan...if you can fish them out from the bottom of a bottle long enough to ‘eradicate’ them...good on you.”

Sherlock watched insult and anger crawl across his mother’s face and saw he claws start to slide out and he tensed, ready for a fight.

“Party in the hallway?” Greg strolled up, looping an arm around Mycroft’s waist and feeling the tension in his lover’s frame as ice blue eyes shifted in his direction, a battle glow fading from them as their owner inspected him intently. And consequently gave her back to John and Sherlock. Not a fighter this woman, a politician. He’d caught the resemblance between her, Mycroft, and Sherlock and connected the dots as soon as he’d stepped inside.

Sherlock met his eyes and inclined his head, “Back very early Lestrade.”

“Funny thing that, turns out that Gregson got a fast track promotion and Donovan transferred out. I was offered the chance for Chief Inspector, took my chance to leave instead.”

“Yes, it truly is remarkable how things can work themselves out.” Mycroft didn’t quite make flippant since tension was still thick. Mother was a wildcard and John was still angry, very, very angry in fact. 

Greg squeezed the side of Mycroft’s waist in reassurance as he turned his full attention to Mrs. Holmes and continued to size her up, much to her apparent surprise. Then he turned his head and kissed Mycroft’s jaw, “Why don’t you get your mother something to eat while Sherlock, John and I finish moving my things in?”

Violet’s mouth dropped open in shock as the human man just brushed past her and nudged the hunter and the whelp in the direction of the door without so much as a by your leave or introduction. She’d never had a human ignore her before. Vampires elicited all sorts of reactions in humans, fear, intrigue, lust, anger, violence. Never had any human knowingly ignored a vampire, especially not one on the verge of going clawed. The surprise that her son’s mate, future mate at least, had and had just treated her like a badly behaving dog completely snuffed out her temper.

Surprise was a good look on Violet Holmes in John’s opinion, the gaping mouth and glassy stare made her look just about as intelligent as she obviously was, or stupid as the case might be. After a quiet scoff in her direction, he slid his arm along Sherlock’s until he could grasp the other man’s hand and pull him along, following Greg down the hallway.

Mycroft was a little bit impressed, a little bit pissed at being told what to do, even by Greg but most disturbingly he was a little bit aroused as well. Gods but Greg fitted him in every way. “Come along please Mother, I have an excellent batch of your preferred blood.”

She blinked and allowed him to steer her to a sitting room, “Where in the world did you find him darling?”

“Luck Mother, I was very, very lucky.” He showed his mother to a comfortable upholstered chair and called down the kitchen for some of the blood he had offered her before taking a seat next to her. 

She let Sherlock fade from her mind, as much as he ever did, and gave Mycroft her attention, “Then tell me about him sweetheart.” Her smile was eager. She wasn’t insulted by her son’s mate’s actions, merely...curious. What sort of man was he to ignore a vampire and, more importantly, his lover’s mother? Aside from a very interesting one that was.

That very interesting man stopped beside the truck he’d borrowed from the garage that morning, leaning on the fender, arms crossed over his chest, and looked at Sherlock and John, “Should I start carrying rolled up newsprint with me in case of pissing matches if that woman decides to stay the night?”

Sherlock blinked then eyed Greg irritably, “Who will you be hitting with it?”

“You whack both on the nose or one will think they can get away with more.” He smirked at the way John glared at him, “No seriously, do I have to play peacemaker if she stays? Because we really can’t afford a fight and injuries right now. Otherwise I’d say go for it John.”

“There would be no injuries, only a dead hag but I will play nice as long as I don’t have to spend any time with her and as long as Sherlock doesn’t have to suffer her company either.” John crossed his arms over his chest. “If she starts up again with that utter shite then all bets are off.”

Sherlock moved so that his front was brushing against John’s back, “It should be a fairly simple task to avoid her. She has a routine and even upon visits she doesn’t deviate from it.”

Greg sighed, “Fuck what timing.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Don’t you know, when it rains it pours and we’re standing knee deep in a good and proper shit storm.” John felt calmed by the brush of Sherlock’s body against his. He didn’t want a fight either but he would not let anyone treat Sherlock like that. “Now, should we get your stuff up to your rooms?”

“Hm? Oh. I lied. I got the minions to do it soon as I pulled in the drive. I just wanted to get you two out of there before blood was shed.”

“John is more than capable of taking down my mother Lestrade.”

“Yeah and so are you, and so’s Mycroft, and I’d blow her brains out myself if I had to,” he didn’t shift under the sharp, intrusive regard Sherlock gave him. “I talk to Hettie and Thomas you know, I’ve got a pretty clear picture.”

Sherlock looked away, jaw flexing. “I don’t need pity.”

“And I’m not offering it. But you’re still one of mine remember Sherlock, and I’m plenty pissed on behalf of the kid you were so you’re just going to have to deal with me wanting to protect you even when I know you can protect yourself.”

“Keep this up and I may just start respecting you again Greg.” John leaned back against Sherlock. He knew that Greg knew he was joking; Greg was a friend and family in John’s eyes. He turned his head so he could look up at Sherlock. “See I told your mother you have family, family meddle so that’s just something you have to live with.”

Sherlock’s brows drew down, an incredibly confuddled look on his face.

Greg chuckled and pushed off the truck, going to pat Sherlock on the shoulder, “You’ll get used to it in time. Now, I’m going to make sure my things are where I can find them when I need to.”

“Greg, how can you stand living here?” John had to ask, he felt more boxed up every single day he spent at Mycroft’s manor. Maybe Mycroft’s private rooms were different but still, hallways filled with minions and servants, it made John’s skin crawl just thinking about it.

“It’s home, for me anyways. I’ve had the entire time I’ve been with Mycroft to learn it and well, it’s where Mycroft is. I’ve settled in.” He shrugged, “It’s not home for you, never will be because you can’t stand Mycroft for long and most of the others here set your teeth on edge. Plus you know Sherlock’s not comfortable here.”

Sherlock gave him an irritable look, “I am perfectly capable of-”

“You hate it here. Nothing’s yours, none of the people aside from Hettie, Thomas, me and Mycroft look at you as more than a guest, you can’t do your experiments here, and you can’t stand Mycroft for long periods of time before one of you blows up.” Greg gave him a smile, “You’re not comfortable.”

“Well hopefully we’ll be able to go home soon, before Skully forgets what we look like.” John turned to the side so he could wrap one arm around Sherlock. “Thank you for answering my question Greg, I won’t hold you up any longer.” John got it, if Sherlock had been happy here, truly at home then John could deal with it, it could be a home for him too. 

Sherlock watched Greg walk inside, still frowning, “He’s more clever when he’s not a Yard member.” He pressed closer to John, feeling his body heat seep into him. He was still cold from having seen his mother standing there. 

John wrapped his other arm around Sherlock as well, holding him close against himself. “As much as I would truly love to get out of here I don’t think this is the time for a motorbike adventure. And yes, Greg seems more clever now that Anderson’s stupidity isn’t weighing him down like an anchor, than man can leak the smarts out of anyone, I completely understand why you have him facing the wall often.”

Sherlock’s lips tilted up in amusement, tension slowly leaking from his body before his phone chimed. He fished it out with a scowl.

‘Eat Sherlock; you’re looking skinnier than usual. - Lestrade’

Angling his head, John could read the text too. “He’s right, you feel thinner too.” He proved it by running one of his hands along Sherlock’s ribs, not liking how well he felt them beneath his hand even through Sherlock’s clothes. “Why is that? I’ve seen you eat...” John’s brows furrowed. “Why have you been pretending?”

He spared a mental death threat for Lestrade before trying to slip out of John’s hold, not particularly successfully. “I don’t eat much John, I never have. You should be aware of this by now.” Deflect and distract and hope for the best because it was John and it was not as easy to lie to him as he might have once found it.

“Oh God you are so full of bullshite.” John looked anything but impressed. “Yes you don’t eat much, I do know that and you’ve never hid it, you also don’t usually completely starve yourself. Now you have...You’ve been pretending to eat in front of me and that is something completely different. I’m not you but I’m also not an idiot and I can smell crap from kilometers away, this is all crap.” John’s arms were still around Sherlock and he had no intention of letting the other go. 

“I know you’re not an idiot.” He calculated his chances of throwing John off and escaping while focusing on the smallest thing he could address in John’s statement, hoping to work the conversation around to a different subject.

“No, I’m not and you’re just continuing throwing shite at me.” John was worried and a little sad that Sherlock didn’t trust him. He released his grip on the vampire and took a few steps back. “I’m going back upstairs, I think I’m going to have a bath, haven’t had a bath in ages.” 

Sherlock had to bite the inside of his cheek so hard his mouth filled with his own blood to keep from reach out to bring John back to him or whimpering at the look on his face. He hated it, hated his own cowardice and hated that John wasn’t pushing, that he was retreating, but his reticence was too ingrained to let him show or voice that.

He could tell that Sherlock was upset but he also couldn’t drag every bit of information out of the other, it was exhausting. John loved Sherlock, loved him so much that he ached from it but he couldn’t be the only one communicating and he couldn’t force Sherlock to tell him what was wrong. So despite just wanting to wrap his arms back around Sherlock and keep him close and safe he turned away. “See you later then yeah.”

He watched John’s retreating back, screaming inside, feeling as though John was leaving him despite his promises not to, even though logically he knew he wasn’t. When the door closed on the doctor, he swallowed reflexively and immediately regretted it as his own blood slid down his throat. He knew what would happen then and had barely made it to the bushes beside the garage before he vomited up that mouthful of blood. Even after losing the small amount of blood, his body continued to protest him ever having swallowed it and he heaved, hands splayed flat on the wall to keep his head from smashing into it as he hit his knees and tried helplessly to stop his stomach from bringing up blood that wasn’t there to be brought up.

Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against a broad chest. John sat down right there on the ground and pulled Sherlock into his lap. The look on Sherlock’s face had made it impossible to take more than a few steps inside before turning around and walking back outside. “Alright you moronic git of a genius, time to tell me what’s wrong.” 

Sherlock couldn’t get much more than a small squeak of a syllable out before his stomach cramped again and he bent over one of John’s arms heaving again, though less violently than before. That happened three more times, each time less violent than before as John’s presence and scent calmed his rogue senses, before he was able to turn his head, spine bending in what would have been a dangerous twist for a human, and bury his face against John’s throat, just breathing, and clutching at the man like a lifeline.

John just held them; quietly panicking over what was wrong and feeling utterly helpless that he couldn’t aid his beloved in some way. One hand went up to stroke damp curls away from Sherlock’s nape. “Oh love.” He didn’t know what to do, how to help.

Boots crunched on the grass and an exasperated sigh came from behind them, “Och fool lad. Carry ‘im inside tha garage John. I’ll get some tea from Hettie.” Thomas helped John stand even with the weight of Sherlock clinging to him.

Sherlock wasn’t nearly as heavy as a man his size should be and that only made John worry further as he shifted the man in his arms so he could carry him properly. He walked into the garage with his precious burden and headed for a low bench where he could sit them both down.

Thomas shook his head and walked out muttering about his idiot boys. First Mycroft and now Sherlock was doing it as well, though he imagined that Sherlock’s reasons were sharply different from Mycroft’s. He got a cup of special tea from Hettie and brought it back, “Feed ‘im this laddie.” He straddled the opposite end of the bench.

“Thank you.” John took the cup from Thomas. It was a bit tricky; juggling both man and teacup in his hands but John managed somehow and managed to get Sherlock to drink half the cup at least. 

Sherlock chose to hide his face from both John and Thomas once he felt the tea soothe his abused stomach. He didn’t want Thomas explaining this to John, he really didn’t and he knew both of them would be looking at him, demanding he speak.

Thomas gave a short laugh, “Hiding yer head in tha sand innit gonna do naught lad. Yer in it now, might as well jump tha rest o’ tha way aye?”

“Is that the voice of experience speaking?” Sherlock’s sarcastic tone was lessened by the material of John’s shirt muffling his voice slightly.

“O’ course it is. Wasnae easy gettin’ mah happiness Sherlock. Man up laddie, yer actin’ like yer brother.”

“That’s hitting below the belt.”

“I think Thomas just knows where to hit.” John kept on holding Sherlock carefully. “At least he got a handful of words out of you. I was starting to get concerned that you’d been secretly corresponding with Anderson, making your brain leak out through your ears.” 

Thomas smiled and pat Sherlock on the head before getting up to leave, “I’ll let ya two talk. Sherlock tell him, John make him tell ya. Doona just give up cause he’s stubborn, ya got to stand yer ground and pry it out o’ him.” He left the garage to cuddle his wife hoping he wouldn’t have to knock those two idiots’ heads together.

“I do hope you will tell me Sherlock. Something is obviously very much wrong and I worry. I love you, you bugger, you’re the most important thing in the world to me.” John didn’t dare to squeeze the other; he didn’t want to chance upsetting Sherlock’s stomach again. “When you hurt, I’m hurting too.”

Two low blows in one minute. He wanted to pout at the unfairness. “You think I don’t trust you don’t you? It’s not about trust in you or nonexistent lack of it.” He let John hold him now, no longer trying to pull away.

“Then what is it about?” John looked down at him. “It is obviously something since you’ve put quite some work into hiding it from me and pretending all is well.” He didn’t sound accusing or upset, just worried.

“I...this isn’t easy for me. I trust you, I _do_ , but at the same time I know I can’t trust the world. So many people out there will always be trying to take you from me or me from you and because of that I never wanted to admit how much I...” he swallowed, ignoring the warning roll of his stomach, “It’s hard, to let my shields down John, when you’re already there behind them. How did you get there?”

“I may be short but I’ve always excelled at wall climbing.” John bent his head and smiled into Sherlock’s curls. “I can’t explain how I got there, just as little as I know how you stole away all my heart and soul all for yourself.”

“It was the coat,” John’s chuckle gave him enough courage to continue, “I’ve had to admit to myself that I don’t just,” he had to force the word out, not because he didn’t mean it but because he meant it so much, “love you. I need you as well. That...changes things for a vampire.”

This time John’s arms tightened of their own since he’d never heard the L-word from Sherlock before. He wanted to say that he loved and needed Sherlock too but he understood that Sherlock was speaking of something more than that. “How, how does it change things?” John abhorred the thought of Sherlock hurting in any way because of him.

“It’s slightly different for every vampire aside from one aspect. For me, all my voluntary biological functions such as sleeping were thrown off. The sleeping isn’t as necessary for a vampire as people might think. Sleep is really only necessary if we’re injured.” He closed his eyes and very carefully kept himself from tensing or relaxing as he continued, remaining perfectly still. “As soon as I admitted how much I need you, it triggered the vampire mating recognition.” He held his breath, waiting to see how John would react to that.

John’s heart skipped a beat. “How do we mate then?” It was asked without hesitation. “I already know that I want you and only you forever and always so this changes nothing. I just wonder how quickly we can do it so that you won’t feel ill any longer, so that you can eat and sleep when you choose to. I love you and that will never change, to belong to you and have you belong to me fully, well it’s all I could ask for isn’t it.”

His heart began to beat hard and fast in his chest, “This means I’ll have to feed exclusively from you John. When...when we mate it will change part of your biochemistry so that you overproduce blood at the rate of a pint a day. If something...happened and we were separated to where I couldn’t feed, you’d need to drain off the excess blood to prevent your blood vessels from bursting. The longest you’d be able to go without doing so would be seven days.”

John shifted so he could cup Sherlock’s cheek. “Then we just have to make sure we’re not parted from each other for more than seven days.” He knew of course that it wasn’t that easy but he would fight with everything in him to make his words true, no never be away from Sherlock for longer than that. “My only questions are still how and when?” 

“The when is whenever we choose. The how is,” he lifted his head and opened his mouth, catching John’s hand and bringing a finger inside his mouth, pressing it just behind where one of his fangs descended so John could feel the slightly swollen tissue behind it.

He ran his fingers over what felt like glands. “So you bite me and this will what? Release into me and trigger the blood production as well as mark me?” John wasn’t hesitant or scared; he simply wanted it to happen, the sooner the better.

“Partly. It’s not just me biting you that will release the enzyme. It only releases at the moment of,” his voice had been dropping and the last word was so soft it might as well have been inaudible.

“Excuse me; I didn’t quite catch that last part.” John leaned so he could kiss the tip of Sherlock’s nose. “Sex, is that it? Climax? I know you want it to be special but it will be Sherlock, it will be special whenever we choose to do it because it’s you and me and that cannot be anything but amazing. I love you and of course I would like nothing more than to make love to you as well.” 

He glared at John, feeling a bit like he was being made fun of, “Yes orgasm. By all means let us drop euphemisms.” He wasn’t as irritated as he’d have liked to have been because of the rest of what John had said though. 

“I’m not poking fun at you love, you must know what you do to me Sherlock, even without trying. Christ you move like liquid sex, even now, just have you this close...You must know.” John wasn’t joking about always wanting the other man, he did.

All the irritation left him at that. He did know, and feel, as part of John’s anatomy was certainly growing interested with their talk. He relaxed and grumbled a big part of why he was so prickly, “I don’t want to do it in Mycroft’s house but we can’t exactly sneak back into 221 can we?” He wanted it to be done at home, their home, in his territory.

“Who says we can’t? Mrs. Hudson is at her sister’s, the baddies knows you’re alive thanks to Mycroft’s security problem and the reporters and police have absolutely no reason to watch Baker Street any longer.” John placed another kiss on Sherlock’s nose. “I say we do what we want and fuck anyone who disagrees.”

Sherlock felt his body respond at the thought that, not only was John willing for this, but they could have their first time together at home. “When?” His voice had dropped an octave, a bit embarrassing but there you had it.

“Whenever you like. Is tonight too soon?” John didn’t want to push it and with the visit from Mother Holmes and all it might not be the best mood but John had been patient, had been waiting and he wanted Sherlock so, so very much. 

Sherlock leaned in and flicked his tongue over John’s pulse point and wiggled in his lap, grinding down a bit on the bulge in John’s trousers. “What do you think?” It was a purr.

“Oh Gods.” John’s pulse jumped and his hips twitched. “I think we’re leaving as soon as we bloody well can...please.”

“Yes,” Sherlock kissed the skin under his mouth, “John, yes. Bike?”

“Bike.” John nodded. It would be easier to navigate through the city with a bike and easier to hide it at Baker Street. He threaded his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and held the other still so he could claim his mouth in a deep, adoring kiss.

He made a hungry sound and sucked John’s tongue into his mouth eagerly, hands gripping the broad, soldier strong shoulders. He broke the kiss and slid off John’s lap, pulling him up with him, “Leathers, helmets,” he pulled them both over to the gear cabinet and tossed John a pair of leathers before donning a set of his own.

“Christ! I knew you’d be fucking lethal in leathers.” John let his eyes devour Sherlock even as he walked toward the row of bikes. He’d let Sherlock choose which one to take, besides, John had no idea where the keys were. 

Sherlock grabbed the keys to the motorbike John liked the most and tossed them to him before stalking over to the bike in question. He let his eyes slide up then down then back up John’s body, “Now you know how I felt the first time I saw you in leathers. And those aren’t even tailored to you.”

Great goodness, the fact that Sherlock’s leathers were tailored to him was almost enough to make John drool again but he hid his groan behind the helmet as he put it on. He was about to drive through London with Sherlock’s leather clad self pressed against him, angels could cry for less but John found himself grinning all the same. Because they were going to belong to each other after this and John could barely wait. 

John straddled the bike. “Well I do have a pair of leather trousers deep in my closet, proof of a misspent youth. Maybe I’ll wear them for you sometime.”

Sherlock put on his helmet, slid on behind John, scooting as close as he could, and waited until John was wearing the other helmet to take advantage of the intercom so he could reply, “Do and I’ll find something appropriate to reward you with.” The tone was pure sex and made it clear which form that reward would take.

John startled at the sound of Sherlock’s voice purring in his ear for a moment as he got the bike started. “Gods Sherlock, not exactly the time for an unrelenting boner here.” Which was just what John had. Now he just wanted to get to Baker Street as quickly as possible without getting pulled over.

Sherlock’s thoughts were along the same path, “The sooner we get to Baker Street, the sooner I can take care of that for you.” His arms slid around John’s waist, “So drive fast.”

“Bloody hell yes.” John kicked up the stand on the bike and they got going. He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his lips once they were out of the garage and on their way. They were away from Mycroft for a while and they were going home, it was wonderful.

Sherlock closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride. His lips were curled up contentedly as he felt John’s body shifting beneath the leathers, taking corners, weaving through traffic, and opening the throttle on straight a ways. Oh yes, John was definitely getting a motorbike of his own at the soonest gifting opportunity. A few minutes, and several broken traffic laws, later, John was parking the bike and Sherlock could feel his blood moving faster in anticipation.

John’s body was tight as a wire and his heart was pounding. Not only had he gotten to share his passion for bike riding with Sherlock but they were at Baker Street, bike parked right by Mrs. Hudson’s bins. Inside, gods he wanted to get Sherlock inside, wanted to kiss him by the stairs as he had thought about doing so many times “Come on.” He reached for Sherlock’s hand and pulled them both off of the bike and toward the door.

Sherlock followed, waiting until they were inside to take off his helmet. As soon as it was off, he breathed in the scent of home. Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits, lemon furniture polish, and John. Tension he’d not even been aware of seeped out of him. It might be temporary for now but at the moment he was _home_.

Removing his own helmet, John dropped it at the bottom of the stairs and reached for Sherlock and pulled him into the kiss he’d longed for and dreamt of. John had been here after Sherlock but it didn’t matter, without Sherlock there not even 221B was home. He ran his tongue over Sherlock’s beautiful Cupid’s bow and cupped his cheek. “Welcome home love.”

Sherlock’s fingers curled around John’s wrist and he nipped at the tip of his lover’s tongue. “Take me upstairs John, take me to bed.” He pressed against his doctor, so they could both feel just how mutual their hunger was.

Oh yes, John wanted nothing more than that, one hand gripped Sherlock’s and one curled around the other’s waist as he walked backwards up the steps, pulling Sherlock along with him until they were in their own flat. He maneuvered Sherlock across the floor to Sherlock’s own bedroom; one more set of stairs up to his bedroom was much too far. Besides, Sherlock had the bigger bed.

He went willingly, eagerly, kissing along John’s jaw and returning to his lips for more long, drugging kisses. The scent of his bedroom, not nearly as stale as he’d been expecting and with a strong veil of John’s smell, caught his attention. “You spent a lot of time in my room,” he flicked his tongue against the spot just under John’s ear.

John’s knees almost buckled at the sensation of Sherlock’s tongue just there. “Mmm, yes...it still smelled like you.” He reached for the zipper on the leather jacket Sherlock wore and pulled it down, spreading his hands over Sherlock’s chest over his shirt and running them down to grip at his waist, pulling Sherlock impossibly closer. John rubbed himself against Sherlock’s thigh as he kissed down his neck, wanting to cover as much skin as possible with lips and teeth and tongue.

Sherlock tilted his head back, his own hands busy stripping the leathers from John. He pressed his thigh against the bulge John was rubbing against him with a satisfied purr, “I like it. Your scent,” he tossed John’s jacket away, not really caring where it landed, “my scent, mixed together.” His hands slipped under John’s trousers to squeeze the globes of his arse.

“I’m going to cover you in my scent, just as you’ll cover me with yours.” John’s hands grew impatient as he worked to get Sherlock naked as soon as possible. He kept getting distracted by each new expanse of skin he uncovered though, needing to touch and kiss and taste.

The touch of John’s mouth on his skin made his head swim, every thought rerouted to this. To John touching and kissing him, to the functions and actions and reactions of this act, everything was focused on John and what they would become together. He helped John strip his shirt off, rolled his hips as the capable surgeon’s fingers unhooked his trousers, letting them fall down, kicking them off, along with his shoes so the only thing keeping him from being fully naked were his silk boxer briefs. However he wasn’t going to be naked while John was still mostly dressed.

He slipped out of John’s grasp and slid to his knees, unfastening the leather trousers then the denims beneath, pulling on them both. He wanted John naked and he was going to get what he wanted.

“Oh Christ...” The sight of Sherlock on his knees in front of him made John’s heart race and his cock twitch. He speared his fingers into Sherlock’s hair just to have something to hold on to as both pair of trousers was pulled down his hips. “Gods you’re gorgeous.”

Sherlock worked John’s shoes then trousers off, nuzzling at a hipbone, “And you’re delicious,” his tongue slid just under the waistband of John’s boxers before he pulled them off and made a hungry sound at the sight of his lover’s erection. He licked up the underside of the shaft, flicked the tip of his tongue at the tip, then swirled it around the head. His hands ran down, then up John’s legs, strong and muscled, the sort that could carry him through hostile terrain for hours without flagging. John was absolutely edible, every last bit of him.

A gutted moan escaped John along with a string of curses that he couldn’t have stopped for anything. His hands tightened in Sherlock’s hair without permission and he did his best not to buck into the sensational feeling of Sherlock’s tongue on his erection. It felt wonderful, way beyond any of John’s dreams whether they had been waking or sleeping ones but as much as he wanted this, it wasn’t enough. He needed to touch too. “Bed, please, oh fuck please.”

Sherlock gently rubbed his cheek against John’s thigh and looked up, “One thing first? It’s been too long since I’ve fed at all and I don’t want to drink too much from you in the heat of the moment, may I...” one finger trailed softly over the vein on the inside of John’s thigh as Sherlock looked up at his lover.

Again his cock twitched, precome gathering at his tip, showing clearly that John had nothing at all against what Sherlock asked. “Of course, always, just take what you need...As long as it doesn’t make you sick you can have as much as you want.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just nuzzled John’s thigh, swept his tongue over the vein, once, twice, and a third time before his fangs dropped and he bit in. He made a moan as John’s blood filled his mouth, hot and sweet with an edge of spice. He drank, sucking to get more when the punctures began to clot and close, carefully taking note of how much he took, his hands stroking over John’s legs and hips in gentle thanks.

John had heard that if felt good but he had no idea, no idea at all. It was an indescribable feeling, Sherlock’s tongue lapping at him and his lips sucking. John honestly thought he could come from being fed on alone. That was an experiment for another time though, today, this time he did not want to come yet so he did his best to distract himself. Petting Sherlock’s hair as he fed and imagining all the spots on Sherlock’s body he would kiss as soon as he had a chance to. 

Sherlock pulled away once he’d taken, at the most, a pint, and concentrated on licking the punctures closed. Once they weren’t bleeding anymore, he stood, wiggling out of his pants as he did, caught John behind the neck, then tumbled them both down into the bed. He brushed his lips over John’s, ruffling his fingers through the short blond hair.

John laughed happily against Sherlock’s lips before putting more effort into the kiss. It was a little strange, tasting his own blood in Sherlock’s mouth, strange but no worse than the taste of spunk and Sherlock made everything appealing. He ran his hands over Sherlock’s torso, stopping slightly to rub the pad of his index finger over pebbled nipples before running over ribs, circling a shallow navel and reaching around to cup a rather incredible arse. 

He moaned into John’s mouth and rolled his hips up, one leg lifting to wrap around John’s hip. He lightly trailed his nails down the broad back before breaking the kiss to worship the scar high on John’s shoulder with his mouth. A vague thought of warning John about the enzyme repairing the nerve damage that gave him his tremor flickered through his mind before he lost himself in the taste, feel, and smell of his lover. Let it be a surprise.

It took a little wiggling but finally John managed to keep one hand on the curve of Sherlock’s arse and wrap his other around both of their erections together and stroke them. He buried his face in Sherlock’s neck with a breathless moan, biting down on the soft skin as their cocks slid together.

A helpless mewl broke from Sherlock’s throat and he arched to get more. More of the friction of John’s prick against his and more of his lover’s teeth on his throat. His hands went down to John’s arse, squeezing and kneading. He moaned and shivered, “John, please I want you inside me, please.”

Yes, oh yes, that was what John wanted too. Hearing Sherlock saying please in that tone of voice set his blood on fire and he hoisted Sherlock straight onto his back and crawled down his body. John slung Sherlock’s legs over his shoulders and spread the other man wide open, licking over his weeping prick, soft bollocks and down the cleft of his bum until he swept his tongue over the tiny hole hidden there. He didn’t have any lube on him and he had no idea if Sherlock had any in here but either way he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of tasting Sherlock like this.

“Oh God _yes_ ,” it was a breathy moan as he threw his arms over his head, tangling his fingers in the sheets, as he let the sensation of John’s tongue licking and probing at his hole wash over him. He wiggled and did his best to press up into that sinfully talented tongue.

John caressed Sherlock’s thigh with one hand and reached up and pinched a pretty pink nipple with the other as he pointed his tongue and wiggled it inside the tight heat of Sherlock. He groaned at the taste of Sherlock and pulled out to run the flat of his tongue over the sensitive skin again and again before stabbing back in.

Sherlock made a desperate whine, “Please John, hurry. I want you inside me, filling me up with your cock, pounding into me and making me scream your name. Please!” He shivered, arousal and need and John’s tongue making heat dance through his bloodstream.

Letting out another moan, John brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, laved them in saliva before pushing one inside and tonguing the rim around it. He wanted to be inside Sherlock too, no sane person could keep their wit with Sherlock begging so prettily but John didn’t want to hurt him. This was about love and pleasure and hurt had no room here.

A sharp groan vibrated in his throat as he felt the slight invasion and the lapping of John’s tongue along with it. He wiggled in encouragement, it didn’t hurt, didn’t even feel uncomfortable, and it wasn’t enough. It was John and so he didn’t feel even the slightest bit apprehensive no matter that he’d only ever had dildos and vibrators inside him. It was only John he trusted enough to bottom to. He moaned and bit his lip, his fangs pricking the skin slightly, as John began to move that finger.

“Oh my god, so bloody beautiful.” John rutted against the sheets in impatient movements as one finger became two. He was so hard that he ached and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer but he wanted to make sure that Sherlock was ready for him. John rubbed his fingers over Sherlock’s prostate, listening greedily to Sherlock’s moan. He kept it up for as long as he could but he couldn’t keep himself from Sherlock any longer, needed to be inside him. John crawled up until he was settled in the cradle of Sherlock’s thighs, leaning down to kiss his lover. “Ready love?”

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s hips and licked at his lips, “Yes. God yes. In me John, get in me, fill me up.” He felt like he was burning alive from the inside out, a sweet, welcome flame, and he was so achingly hard it hurt.

“Bloody hell, you are going to kill me talking like that.” John shuddered in pleasure and longing and guided himself into place. Sliding into Sherlock was heaven or as close to it as John ever expected he would come. He moaned against Sherlock’s lips like he was dying as he felt Sherlock around him, as he slid deeper until he was all the way inside, his balls resting flush against Sherlock’s bottom. “I love you, gods I love you so much.”

He caught John’s mouth in a heated kiss, the solid reality of John being inside him making his head spin. It burned, just a bit, saliva not exactly being the best lubricant but it was a good burn. His legs tightened around John’s hips and he lifted toward him with a demanding moan, “Move.”

“Pushy, pushy...I had to wait or else I would have come the second I was inside you.” John’s voice was a breathless gasp as he pulled out a little and slid back inside, feeling the tight clench of Sherlock’s body around him. He pressed kiss after kiss to Sherlock’s lips, cheeks and neck as his thrusts gained speed and force.

“You,” Sherlock moaned, “you like me pushy.” he licked and nibbled at John’s ear, careful not to scratch the lobe with his fangs. Each hard, rolling thrust send shocks of pleasure through him and made the tension low in his gut coil tighter. “God you feel so good inside me,” he ran his nails down John’s back, “spreading me wide, making me yours, so hot and hard and perfect.” 

“Mmm, I love you pushy.” John agreed and nipped at Sherlock’s chin. “You have no idea how lovely you are, how hot and tight and wonderful you feel around me. Nothing, nothing could ever compare. You are mine Sherlock, just as I’m yours, inside and out and completely.” He ran his lips over Sherlock’s jaw and down his neck again as he reached between them and took Sherlock’s cock in a firm grip, stroking it as he thrust inside him.

“Ah! Always yours, always.” Sherlock clung and shivered and met the thrusts as well as he could without taking his legs from around John. Moans, whimpers, mewls, and cries in the shape of John’s name fell from his lips with increasing frequency as he came closer and closer to coming. The fire in his blood built to a fever pitch and soon his nails were digging into John’s shoulders as he held on, “Close John, so close,” he licked at his lover’s pulse point, burying his mouth against it and sucking lightly at the skin until the tension that had built in his body suddenly snapped with one sharp thrust of John’s hips and he sank his fangs into the strong column of John’s throat. He bit down hard as he came, an ocean of fire pouring over and out of him as the enzyme left the glands in his mouth and entered John’s bloodstream.

“Sherlock, oh god Sherlock.” His lover’s name was a prayer on his lips. John had no idea if it was Sherlock’s body tightening and trembling around him or if it was the bite but it didn’t matter. He gave a few more stuttering thrusts before burying himself as deeply inside Sherlock as he could get and had the orgasm of his life. His spine and soul and very being felt ripped out of him and given to Sherlock along with everything else that he had to give. 

Sherlock just moaned and held John tighter, wrapping his limbs around him as tightly as he could with his teeth buried in his neck. He shivered under his lover, his _mate_ , and savored the weight of John pressing him into the mattress. As his body relaxed, orgasm fading, he released his jaw, licking at the bite wound gently, speeding clotting. He whispered softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too, more than anything.” John pressed his cheek against Sherlock’s and he slipped out of him and rolled off him to his side. He stayed curled around Sherlock though, as close as he could get. He tried to feel if he felt any different but all he felt was sated and utterly blissful. “You’re my best friend, my lover, my mate. You are part of me now and I am never ever going to give you up. We belong to each other from here on out and I’m so happy about it that it feels like my heart is about to burst.” John didn’t have Sherlock’s way with words, all he could say was what was inside his heart. Every word was honest though, nothing but the truth.

Sherlock nuzzled at John’s jaw affectionately. He didn’t have any words for what he was feeling and thinking at the moment. There was happiness, a bone deep joy as he could already detect John’s scent starting to gain another layer, the one that would make it clear that he was someone’s bonded mate. But there was also fear of loss, humbling gratitude, and savage protectiveness. He just snuggled closer against John, pulling one of his mate’s hands to rest on his chest, over his heart.

John kept his hand there, feeling Sherlock’s heartbeat beneath his palm. His other hand was curled tightly around Sherlock, holding him close. “We are going to come out of this on top Sherlock...no doubts. Things might get hairy but I’m not going to leave you, I promised remember and I always, always keep my promises. The riddle never said it was impossible and now, now I have everything to protect and live for so I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

Sherlock nodded, letting the sound of John’s breathing and the warmth of his body soothe him. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as John was saying but he wasn’t keen on ruining the moment, so he pressed a kiss to John’s shoulder and murmured, “Sleep a little while with me.”

John hummed and nuzzled against Sherlock. “Will you be sleeping? Wait, that doesn’t matter as long as you stay.” John already felt the heaviness in his limbs and the drooping eyes that signaled that sleep wasn’t far away. He knew they had to leave, that they had to return to Mycroft’s house but he wanted more time, just a few more hours here at home with just him and his mate.

_**To be continued…** _


	14. Part Fourteen

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; some Mystrade, Sherlock and John embracing their childish side and John plans for his recon mission._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Fourteen._ **

Greg poked his head around the door to the bathroom and saw Mycroft sitting in the tub, stress lines on his face, a glass of wine on the rim of the tub, long fingers curled negligently around the bowl. He stepped in, padding over on bare feet to sit on the side of the tub. “Hey.”

"Hello." Mycroft gave his lover a smile despite his wary mood. He felt completely drained but as always Greg's mere presence made everything better. "How are you?"

“I’m fine, all moved in and settled” he reached out and smoothed Mycroft’s hair back from his forehead, “Sorry about the order earlier but I wanted to stop things from escalating before blood was shed and considering the look on John’s face that wasn’t too far off.” 

"He would have killed her and I honestly don't know if I would have tried to stop him." Mycroft shifted a little in the tub, feeling some of the tension seep out of him now that Greg was there. "Also no need to apologize, you defused a dangerous situation in a way that I was incapable of, I thank you for it." He reached for the wineglass and took a sip, it did not do anything for him but he loved the flavor of it and so he indulged himself. "I'm glad you're here, that you are home."

Greg caught Mycroft’s hand, still around the glass, and brought it to his own mouth, setting his lips on the same place Mycroft’s had rested and taking a sip himself before releasing his lover’s hand, “I’m happy to be home, to be here with you.” And he’d be staying as long as Mycroft could stand him. “Is your mother staying?”

“Yes.” That such a short word could hold such much emotion was incredible. “She was both gobsmacked and impressed with you I think, she wants to get to know you.” Mycroft’s eyes were on the glass in his hand, the fact that Greg had drunk from the same spot was intimate and rather lovely in Mycroft’s mind. “My mother adores me, probably too much to be healthy, she loves me just as much as she hates Sherlock...I don’t know how to handle the situation, have never known.”

“Hm,” Greg began unbuttoning his shirt, “Best thing to do is to keep them away from each other as well as we can and treat them like puppies diddling on the carpet if they run into each other and start sniping.”

Mycroft almost choked at that before he started chuckling. “Oh God, I would love to see you smack Mother with a rolled up newspaper, it would end in terror and bloodshed but lord it would be amusing.” His eyes widened as Greg revealed more and more skin as he unbuttoned and pulled off his shirt.

“I plan to keep the paper with me just in case,” he tossed his shirt into the hamper then unbuckled his belt.

“Good plan.” Mycroft licked his lips and took another sip of wine. “They are at Baker Street right now, I didn’t think it fit to stop them, they needed some time to themselves.” He locked eyes with Greg. “John will be like Hettie by now I suspect.”

Greg pulled down his zip and pushed his trousers off, enjoying the way Mycroft’s eyes darkened when he saw the complete lack of underwear. Naked, he slipped into the tub across from his lover, “So Sherlock opened up then? I thought he was looking skinnier.”

Mycroft shifted and slipped his legs over Greg’s, twitching his toes against Greg’s sides. “Idiot, he hasn’t been eating or sleeping but yes he has let John in, a thing I feared I would never witness when it comes to Sherlock.” 

“I’m glad for them. Still a bit worried with the mess going on but glad,” Greg caught one ankle, grabbed the wash sponge and ran it along the leg, “Oh and you can’t call him an idiot for not eating baby, seeing as how you did exactly the same thing. Speaking of, how often should you be feeding?”

He didn’t roll his eyes but it was close. “I don’t have to feed that often, once a week perhaps.” Since he hadn’t mated with Greg yet he didn’t want to feed too much from him, he didn’t produce the extra blood and Mycroft would never do something to hurt Greg. 

“Don’t give me that look. I love you, and I want to make sure you have what you need okay?” He squeezed Mycroft’s ankle and ran the sponge over the other side of his lover’s leg, “I still don’t know how this whole thing works Lord Fang.” It was said with warmth and affection, “So I have to ask questions.”

“I don’t mind you asking questions, ask away.” Goose bumps rose on Mycroft’s skin as Greg washed it. “I’m old so I don’t need to feed more than once a week, the younger a vampire is, the more they have to feed...Mother can go months without feeding. She doesn’t of course but she could if she needed it.”

Greg finished washing the skin in his reach on the one leg then gave his attention to the other, “Hmm. Okay, but I would imagine plenty of younger vampires get mated while needing to feed daily so how does that work? How can they get the blood they need without hurting their mate? And do you still feed exclusively on your mate if they’re changed into a vampire?”

“A vampire can lose more blood than a human without danger and vampire blood are more potent than human blood so yes, even when turned mates can feed exclusively on each other. Usually that only strengthens the younger vampire and strengthens the bond between mates.” Mycroft flexed his leg slightly as Greg washed it. 

“Sounds like a good deal to me. Makes me wonder why some would choose not to be changed. What’s the advantage?” He placed a kiss to the arch of Mycroft’s foot.

“Advantage to being changed or to refrain from it?” Mycroft made a purring sound as Greg kissed his foot. “John would lose his hunter abilities if he changed; they exist precisely because he’s human. Everyone has to make the choice for themselves for what is best for them and what they want.”

Greg rubbed a circle on the inside of Mycroft’s ankle with his thumb, “Advantage to refrain for the non-hunter humans like me was what I meant but you’re right. Different people, different choices.” He set aside the sponge and made a swift movement to bring Mycroft into his lap so he could nuzzle a wet shoulder. “Does being changed hurt? That you’ve heard of since you wouldn’t have experience.”

“It’s not like the books or movies out there, your body doesn’t die...I assure you that we are very much alive.” Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck, loving the way their naked bodies slid together. “But yes, from what I’ve heard and witnessed it hurts. The cells of your body change, adapt, grow stronger.” 

“I know you’re alive,” he tapped his fingers on the side of Mycroft’s neck, “I’ve felt and heard your heartbeat enough to know that.” His hand smoothed down his lover’s side. “Makes sense, an entire body changing right down to the microscopic bits would have to hurt considering just how bad it feels just for a growth spurt alone.” He’d ask Thomas if there was someone who’d been changed that he could talk to though. This was an important issue for him and he wanted as much information as he could get.

“Hmmm.” Mycroft only hummed in response as he leaned in and mouthed at Greg’s neck and collarbone. He had never been anything else than what he was so he couldn’t know what the change was like. The change was a very private thing, something between mates so he had only witnessed a few changes in his lifetime, when very close friends had chosen their mates and gone through the change..Friends, it was something Mycroft did not have a lot of.

Greg made a pleased murmur and ran fingers through Mycroft’s hair with his free hand, the other lazily stroking over the vampire’s skin. He trailed his fingertips over a set of thin, raised lines, scars, on Mycroft’s thigh. He’d wondered how his lover had gotten those but he’d never asked, certain that it was bound to be a painful story. Now that he knew what Mycroft was, he was even more certain of that. Not much could permanently scar a vampire that he was aware of. “Je t’aime, mon bel amant.”

Mycroft shuddered, the French getting to him just as it had the last time. He couldn’t figure out why, Mycroft had heard French plenty in his life but when it came from his lover’s lips, he couldn’t help but melt “I don’t know about handsome but I am your lover, all yours.”

“Very handsome,” he pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s jaw, “And I have plans for you tonight.”

“Plans?” Mycroft raised a brow and wiggled on top of Greg’s lap. “What sort of plans is that then?”

“Plans involving you, in bed stretched out on your stomach, me, straddling your thighs, a bottle of edible body oil, and a massage.” He lifted Mycroft up to sit on the end of the tub and proceeded to take the sponge up again to wash the rest of him, “I’m sure your brilliant mind and imagination can take it from there amour.”

“I have a very imaginative and brilliant mind yes and I can imagine many, many things. I do hope that this massage will come with a happy ending.” Mycroft’s lips quirked upwards as he ran his fingers through Greg’s hair. “It would be happy for you too as well of course.”

“Of course it comes with a happy ending,” he kissed the inside of Mycroft’s knee, “possibly more than once.” He kicked the stopper out of the drain as he finished sponging Mycroft down, coaxed his lover to stand, then hosed him clean of soap with the shower attachment. Once he turned the water off, he grabbed a couple of towels to dry them off. He knew Mycroft hated wet bedcovers.

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” Mycroft waited until they were both out of the bathtub before he jumped up and wrapped arms and legs around his lover. “I look forward to the whole journey. I love you Gregory, gods I love you.”

Greg supported Mycroft’s weight with his hands under the vampire’s bum and kissed the tip of his pointy nose, “I love you too Mycroft. You’ve got my heart and soul forever.” And he wasn’t using that word lightly.

“And you’ve got mine. I’ve never given either of them away but you just stole them away, without me none the wiser.” Mycroft kissed his way over Greg’s jaw to his mouth where he could kiss and lick at Greg’s lips.

He carried Mycroft to the bed, kissing him back lazily, and set him down on the sheet he’d laid out over the coverlet to keep oil from getting on the bedding. “I’ll look after them baby, keep them safe and sound for you.” He cupped Mycroft’s cheek lovingly.

“I know, otherwise I would never have let you keep them.” He surged upwards, wanting to kiss Greg again. “Now they are all yours, I couldn’t take them back even if I wanted to.” Mycroft reached for Greg, not wanting to be apart for even a minute, needing the closeness.

He let Mycroft pull him down and press their mouths together again, his arms curling around him, holding him close. He ran his hands affectionately over Mycroft’s back and arms, slowly easing back from the kiss, nuzzling his nose. “Lay down love, so I can pamper you.”

“Well I can’t say no to that can I?” Mycroft pecked Greg’s lips before placing himself on his stomach in the middle of the bed. He rested his chin on his arms and waited for Greg to move. 

Greg got the bottle of edible apricot oil and moved to straddle Mycroft’s thighs, warming the bottle between his palms before drizzling it over his lover’s back. He set himself to massaging the stress of the day away from Mycroft. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about Mrs. Holmes and how her visit would wear on Mycroft. Tonight was for them and nothing else.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock kept his fingers twined with John’s as they crept into the kitchen to see if they could raid the refrigerator to get some dinner for John. He was already missing Baker Street but it was soothed and offset by the knowledge that every vampire and Underground member out there would know that John was very much taken.

Opening the refrigerator door, John hummed happily as he found some leftover seafood pasta. He brought the bowl out and carried it over to a gleaming microwave. He felt strange but in the best possible way, he felt fit and strong and completely Sherlock’s.

The light switched on and Hettie stood in the doorway. She took one look at them and nearly crumbled. “Oh...oh...you should have told me, I would have made a feast, a cake, this is worthy of celebration.”

“I’m not certain that would be the wisest thing to do while Violet is in residence.” Strange. He’d never before been able to use his mother’s name so casually, no matter how he’d hated her, yet it felt natural to do so now.

“Pish posh, who cares about the wicked witch of the east at a moment like this?” Hettie walked forward and enveloped Sherlock in a tight hug. “I am so happy for you little one, so very happy.” 

He blinked and hugged her back briefly, pulling back with a kiss to her cheek and a quiet, “Thank you. I don’t particularly care about her or not, Lestrade however has threatened to beat us apart with a newspaper should we start snarling at each other. I believe it is his attempt to protect Mycroft from emotional stress.”

Hettie humphed but released Sherlock. “Young Mycroft has always been sensitive, well once hag queen is gone I will still hold a celebration because you are worth it.” She stalked over to kiss a startled John’s cheek. “For now I will leave you with my most heartfelt congratulations.” Hettie walked out as quickly as she’d come, just as the micro peeped that John’s food was warm.

Sherlock sat at the table with John, watching him eat with possessive interest, “I am considering being very childish.”

“Oh?” John spooned up some more pasta and chewed it. “And this is different from your norm how?” He grinned and reached for Sherlock’s hand with his free one. “Just joking, childish how?”

“Childish in the manner of ‘pranks’ that would annoy Violet to the point of fleeing. They can become dangerous as well if you’d like to assist,” his lips curled up in an impish, positively evil smile, inviting John to play.

“You know me love, you had me at dangerous.” John grinned and leaned forward to kiss that dangerously sexy smile off of Sherlock’s lips before he continued eating. He was starving but figured that amazing sex, being fed off of and becoming a bonded bloodmate could make you hungry. “What should we do first?”

Sherlock licked his lips, catching the lingering flavor of John’s, “Well, she has a skin allergy to pixie dust.” His eyes glittered with the unholy glee of a little boy setting ants on fire with a magnifying glass.

“Oh my, imagine what would happen if all her clothes were to be doused in pixie dust then, why the doctor in me practically shudders.” John put on his best innocent expression, he was usually quite good at that but this time he failed spectacularly because he couldn’t stop giggling.

Giggles began to escape Sherlock as well and before long the two of them were a mass of hilarity that sounded as if it needed to be dragged to an insane asylum. “There are even a few pixies that inhabit the back garden. Mycroft prefers them as gardeners as they work for milk and honey.”

John snorted. “Figures Mycroft should do something like that.” He finished his food in three quick bites and stood to rinse out the bowl and place it in the dishwasher. Then he walked over to Sherlock and pulled his mate out of his seat. “Let’s go to the back garden and sweet talk some pixies.”

Sherlock took just enough time to grab some honey before walking with John out to the back garden. This was going to be fun.

 

~oOo~

 

Greg shifted, once more inspecting the uniform he’d been given by the UG Commissioner. It was black, made of some sort of leathery material that fit him closely but moved with every shift or gesture like water. It had a duty belt, also black, that held ammunition he’d been trained on how to use and a ‘gun’ of sorts. The badge pinned on his chest would disguise him to anyone not in the know about the Underground and, as the UG liked to use military rank terms, had his rank of Lt. Lestrade displayed over the UG crest in shiny silver. He had to admit it looked bloody good on him.

He got out of his car and walked into the house, and into chaos. Something tiny climbed up him in a flash and proceeded to hide in his hair, all he got was a flash of brown before there was a shivering, whimpering thing clinging to his hair like it was all that stood between it and certain doom. Possibly it was considering that Violet Holmes came stalking into the foyer just afterwards, covered in some sort of green and brown sludge and snarling.

“Where is it? Where is that foul little brownie?”

“What happened?”

“A ruined shower!” It was a hostile hiss.

“The poor thing was just doing his job, if you are too busy to read the warning sign then that is on your own head...And by the sight and smell of you, it really is on you.” Hettie walked around the corner, hands on her hips and trying to stop from smiling at the state of the Holmes’ matriarch. She had admired the woman once, when she first started to work for the family but she had quickly been stripped of any illusions about the great Lady Holmes and all she felt now for the other woman was loathing with perhaps a smidgen of pity mixed in.

Greg managed to keep a straight face even as Violet snarled out a crude French curse and snapped around to stalk back to her room. He held out for three, maybe four seconds once she was out of earshot, then he let himself laugh. He held a hand even with the top of his head, “Alright you can come on down now.” He felt the brownie jump from his head onto his hand and listened to it chitter in some language only it knew as he lowered his hand to look at it. “Want me to set you down by the sink drain so you can finish your work?”

An emphatic chitter and nod was his answer and he popped into the kitchen, Hettie with him, to set the little creature down, receiving a salute before it disappeared down the drain. He looked over at Hettie, “So is Mycroft hiding in his office then?”

“Yes, I don’t really expect him to come out before her queen-ship has returned back to the manor.” Hettie nodded, a small frown replacing her smile. “He’s even more clammed up than usual though.” Her oldest boy had never been a chatterbox but these days Mycroft hardly spoke a word outside of orders. “Good thing he has you and look at you, so handsome.” She walked forward and straightened Greg’s hair since it had played hiding place to the little brownie.

He bent his head to let her have better access, “I suppose I’ll just have to go pry into the clam. If nothing else we need to finish work on a project I’ve been helping him with.” He grinned, “Not to mention I really want to see his reaction to the uniform.”

That made her chuckle and she pressed a kiss to Greg’s cheek before deeming him presentable. “Oh, I dare say he will be appreciative.” Hettie winked at him before taking a few steps back. “Best of luck with your project.”

“Thanks. Have a good day Hettie,” he sauntered out of the kitchen and headed for Mycroft’s office, knocking once before opening the door and stepping in.

Mycroft looked up from his computer screen and promptly felt his mouth grow dry at the sight of his lover in that tight fitting black uniform. Oh this could be a problem; Greg could prove to become a great distraction looking like that. “I see you’re settling into your new position.” Mycroft managed to keep his voice steady but it was hard.

“Oh yeah. I’m having more fun than I have at work in years,” he moved to sit on the corner of Mycroft’s desk, really that was becoming his default spot, “But seems to me that you’re not having much fun lately at all.” He rested a boot clad foot on the edge of Mycroft’s chair, “Do you want me to threaten to shoot John and Sherlock in the bum if they don’t stop the pranks?”

“Hm?” Mycroft’s brain had frozen the moment he caught sight of the boots, black, polished and calf high...He felt the insane urge to leaned down and lick them before following the strong curve of Greg’s leg up and up and...oh yes, definitely distracting. “Um...No, they would probably just take your threat as another challenge. Hopefully it will get Mother to leave soon.” Mycroft licked his lips and tore his eyes away from the boot on his chair.

“If it gets to be too much baby, I’ll flat out ask her to leave.” And he’d make sure she did as requested, “But both of those idiots should know by now that when I make a threat I mean it. Speaking of the idiots though, the plan for John’s scouting op. We need to finish that. The longer we wait, the healthier Moriarty gets.”

“I am aware of that yes.” Mycroft didn’t mean to sound short or snippy, he really didn’t but it felt as if they were swimming in syrup, not getting anywhere no matter how they worked for it. He still had no idea who the mole was and his brother’s childish reaction to their mother’s presence was just the icing on a very fucked up cake. “I apologize, I was rude.”

“It’s okay baby. You’re stressed and everything piling up isn’t helping.” He reached over and rubbed at the back of Mycroft’s neck, “We’ll finish the plan, John will find out which vortex Moriarty and Moran are settled in, then we’ll tie everything up in the bow.”

Mycroft reached out for that hand before it could retreat and pressed a kiss to Greg’s palm in another silent apology. “Yes, we’ll finish the plan and stick to it.” He hoped that everything would go as neatly as Greg had proclaimed, doubted it but hoped all the same. 

“So let’s get to work. The sooner the children are out of the house the better for our collective sanity.” He squeezed Mycroft’s hand.

“Oh I second that.” Mycroft leaned back in his chair. He loved his brother and wanted to take care of him as much as Sherlock would let him but they had always been better when at a distance from each other.

Greg got the file for the plan out before settling in with Mycroft to work out the final details on it.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock frowned over John’s shoulder at the plan laid out in front of them, “You’re certain this is the safest way in and out?”

“It is, Greg and Mycroft have done their research.” John gave a nod to the other two men before running through exactly way this way was the safest. He knew that Sherlock would get it quickly, probably quicker than he would have if he hadn’t seen plans like these for a decade of his life. 

He made a grudgingly approving sound. He still didn’t like the thought of John doing this; he was worried and terrified that he’d lose him.

Greg tossed a subtle black cat pin to John, “On top of that will be the pin. It’s the magical equivalent to a vitals RFID that a non-Underground member would swallow when on a black ops mission. It won’t be picked up on any magical scan but it will let us know where and how healthy John is at any point.”

John caught the pin one handed, after he had commented that his shoulder and arm had never felt that good Sherlock had told him about his enzyme repairing the nerve damage he’d suffered when he was shot. “I plan on staying plenty healthy thank you but this is a good thing, ta.”

“A very good thing.” Sherlock knew he’d be watching the tracking parchment like a hawk while John was scouting. “Who’s idea was it?”

“Mine,” Greg gave him an understanding smile, “Too many times I wound up with my stomach in knots because one of my men disappeared on me during dangerous ops.”

“It’s the same in the military.” John nodded; often when good men disappeared during missions it was the not knowing that was worst. “You can keep tabs on me the entire time I’m on recon.” 

“We shall plant a mic on you as well to allow us to have contact but if you should be captured.” Mycroft ignored the dark look Sherlock sent him at those words. “Even if the mic gets destroyed we can track you with the pin.”

“You’ll be covered in every way possible and I’ll be a block away for back up.” That had been a short but intense argument with Mycroft but one he’d refused to budge on. 

Sherlock studied Lestrade and Mycroft both in sharp surprise before inclining his head, “Thank you.”

John nodded, he hoped he wouldn’t need it of course but he’d seen Greg in a fight and he knew the man’s character so there was no one better to have watch your back than the former DI. “This will work out well, I know what to do and when to do it and you know as well...No secrets, it will be alright.”

Greg met Sherlock’s eyes, understanding that he’d not let anything happen to John pass between them, and received a nod.

“Then we’re ready to do this?” Sherlock’s hand was slightly squeezing, then releasing John’s arm repeatedly as he tried to calm himself.

“Yeah we are, we are ready and more importantly, we _need_ to do this before Moriarty is well enough to travel to another hidey hole.” John shifted so he could slip his arm around Sherlock’s waist, stroking up and down his side soothingly.

“Then let’s get this over with.” He leaned into John’s touch.

“Right, I’ll go start the truck,” Greg turned and brushed a soft kiss over Mycroft’s lips, “See you in the evening baby.” It was a whisper. He knew Sherlock would have heard it but not so much as a sound of disgust came from him.

Mycroft nodded and ran his fingers over the back of Greg’s hand before letting his lover leave. All the ‘be careful’s’ had already been said as they argued about Greg providing back up. Mycroft didn’t like this, didn’t like that it was only going to be John and Greg out there, there should have been a whole team at their backs but because of the worm working for Moriarty that was not a possibility. 

John squeezed Sherlock’s side before bending down to tie the laces of his combat boots and check that he had everything he needed. After that he wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him down for a kiss. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yes you will. I insist upon it. Remember it is only a recon mission John, no matter how tempting it is to finish Moriarty and his pet then and there.” His hands were cupping either side of John’s face, his brow pressed to his, the words spoken against his lips.

“Promise, I won’t do anything stupid no matter how much I might itch to. In and out, there and home, that will be all.” John stroked his fingers through the curls at the back of Sherlock’s neck adoringly before pulling back. 

Sherlock fought the desire to grip John tight and refuse to let him go and instead ghosted his fingers along the rough stubble already growing on his jaw. “I’ll be watching,” he took the little mic Mycroft handed him and fixed it to John’s collar along with the cat pin. “Go.”

“Don’t kill each other while we’re away.” He fixed both Holmes brothers with a look and pressed another quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips before walking out of Mycroft’s office to join Greg in the truck.

Sherlock sat down and scooted the chair as close to Mycroft’s desk as he could so they were both watching the tracking parchment. He reached around, into the drawer of the desk and pulled out the bar of expensive Belgian chocolate Mycroft kept hidden there, “I’ll pay for the replacement,” he broke off a corner and popped it into his mouth, nudging the bar in Mycroft’s direction, a silent suggestion of sharing.

“No need, I have more where that came from.” Mycroft broke off a piece of his own and let it melt on his tongue. Not even chocolate helped with his worry this time but it was nice all the same. He knew very well that Greg and John would have barely made it off the property but he was still already waiting for them to come home.

_**To be continued…** _


	15. Part Fifteen

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; BAMF!John sneaking about and using his hunter abilities. Also kidnappings and a traitor in their midst._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Fifteen._ **

Greg parked the truck and handed John a gun similar to his as well as a wickedly sharp knife, “The gun is loaded with ammunition that works for just about everything. Ten shots. If you get caught and have shoot something and it still moves afterwards, run like hell.”

“Duly noted.” John stuffed the gun down the back of his cargo trousers and the knife in his boot. “Good thing I’m used to running through London with Sherlock then, practice for this.” He shot Greg a grin. “Be careful Greg, watch your back and if something goes sour...go home, no heroics.” 

“John,” he clapped him on the shoulder, “Don’t waste your breath. In and out mate and I’ll be here keeping an eye out.”

“Right, in and out.” John squared his shoulders. “See you in a little bit then.” He gave Greg a jaunty wave and was off.

Greg watched him pop off then pulled out the second tracking parchment to watch John’s progress. He seemed to get in without any issue, heartbeat steady and calm. He watched as John went through each mapped level of the facility, the hedgehog shaped dot that represented him slowing in a hallway and hesitating, making Greg frown in worry.

John let his eyes sweep over the room, he would have wanted to go inside and look properly at what kind of medical equipment and medicines were stored there but he had promised not to do anything stupid. The fact that the medical section was even there though was a tell in itself. He continued his travel through the compound, in and out, in and out. As long as he reminded himself of that, all would be well.

Greg breathed easier once John began moving at an appropriate pace again. He saw something skittering behind bins outside the truck and narrowed his eyes, just catching a shadow snagging a pie off someone’s windowsill before slipping back into the shadows. He started the truck and moved around to the other side of the block, clicking on his own mic to speak into John’s earwig, “Shadowstalker stealing his lunch near where I was parked, moved to the next side of the block so adjust for that.”

“Roger.” John confirmed that he got it but didn’t waste words, one never knew just what or who might be listening. He was nearly done anyway. He hadn’t seen that many guards but those he had seen were bad ones, both human and Underground working the hallways. In John’s mind there was no doubt that this was the place where Moriarty was. 

It wasn’t too long after that until the hedgehog dot began making its way back out of the facility and soon Greg was unlocking the truck to let John in. “Well?”

“They are there; I caught sight of Moran walking into the medical facility on my way out. Where Moran is, Moriarty is.” John felt his heart rate slow as the adrenaline from the mission settled.

He turned the engine over and started the truck, controlling himself to keep from rushing out. “Good. We’ll be able to squish the spider and take down the web then. Let’s get home.”

“Mmm, let’s.” John smiled and spoke into the mic. “Did you hear that? We’re both safe and sound and on our way home. Start using those genius minds to make a plan to squish the spider.”

“Just get home John.” Sherlock didn’t move his eyes from the parchment, “I won’t relax until you’re back so hurry.”

“Keep your pants on Sherlock,” Lestrade turned a corner, “we’re leaving Avebury now. Two hours and we’ll be home.”

“I can assure you that Sherlock has both trousers and pants on, I would toss him out of my office if he didn’t.” Mycroft’s tone was dry but the relief in it was clear as day. “Do hurry home though.”

“Sure ruin my cliches,” Greg’s voice was affectionate, “See you soon, and leave some of that chocolate for me.”

“How you do that I don’t know and sorry but the chocolate’s all gone. I’m sure we can find some more for you though.” This time Mycroft was amused.

“Basically Mycroft, I know you. That’s how I do it. I’ll take payment in a form other than chocolate since there’s no more.”

“And you’ll talk about what that entails later, not through the mic attached to my collar.” John’s voice was firm. “No flirting please, I do not need to hear it.”

“You’re just crabby because Sherlock’s not flirting with you right now.”

“That could be arranged Lestrade.”

“Until Mycroft kicked you out of the office for indecency.”

“Yes and that would be bloody unfair since he would hardly kick himself out for cozying up to you through the mic now would he so no flirting full stop.” John fiddled with his collar. “Besides, it doesn’t matter, I’m switching the mic off now, see you soon Sherlock.” 

“You had better.”

Greg was grinning in deep, deep amusement as John switched the mic off, “You and Sherlock are absolutely adorable.”

“Like you and Mycroft aren’t sickly sweet yourselves. As long as I have Sherlock I don’t mind being considered adorable. Being with him...It’s everything Greg, everything.”

“Yeah. I get that. You lucky bastard. I’ve been trying to figure out how to let Mycroft know that I want to be his mate, officially and all.”

“He’s a Holmes, granted more talkative than Sherlock but still a Holmes. Getting them to share is like pulling teeth. Don’t hint or work around it...Tell him straight up and make it happen. That’s the only way it’s going to happen.” John looked over at his friend. “The mating recognition has already begun for Mycroft so you only need to seal the deal.”

“After we finish this because I’m going all out, including changing and I want time to get used to it all without any disastrous Moriarty messes.”

John’s eyes widened a little but he shouldn’t be surprised not really, if his own circumstances had been different he would have chosen the change as well. “Then let’s get this shite sorted so you can get on with it.”

“Amen to that.” He stepped a little harder on the gas.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock was pacing in the foyer and tore out the door as soon as he heard the truck. He was at the passenger door and pulling John close for a wild kiss the instant it was opened.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and returned the kiss wholeheartedly, even this separation felt too long. 

Greg shook his head and got out of the truck, heading inside, “Lock the truck when you’re done will you John?” He stepped inside and headed for Mycroft. “Hi honey, I’m home.”

“Amusing.” Mycroft’s eyebrow rose as he looked at Greg but he did stand up and walk over to his lover. “Welcome home.” He placed his hand against Greg’s cheek and kissed him.

His hand fell to Mycroft’s waist, arm curling around him in a warm, solid hold as he returned the kiss softly, “Thanks. So how goes the plan making?”

“I expect it to go better now that you are home again. Sherlock and John are newly bonded, in an ideal world they shouldn’t be apart at all right now.” Mycroft allowed himself the indulgence of leaning against Greg and feel his closeness.

“Fucking Moriarty and his screwing our ideal world over.” He kissed Mycroft’s jaw, “I have a feeling that we’ll be waiting a while for them to finish greeting each other, want to pop into the kitchen for a bit?”

“Hungry? Of course we can go to the kitchen.” Mycroft turned concerned in an instant, nearly pulling Greg with him toward the kitchen.

Out front, as Greg was getting fed inside, Sherlock was nipping at John’s bottom lip, sucking on it, and getting a full taste of his mate’s mouth. In between nips he rumbled, “Why the pause in the hallway?” It had sent him into such a state of worry Mycroft had nearly knocked him out.

“Mmm, medical facility.” John had pulled Sherlock into the truck and was now straddling his mate’s lap. “Not on the map, got curious.” He traced the contours of Sherlock’s upper lip with the tip of his tongue. “I think it’s used to care for Moriarty though I can’t say for sure since I couldn’t get a proper look at the stock.”

His hands slid up and down John’s back, “Smart, not staying to look.” He wiggled his fingers under John’s shirt, “Glad you moved through quickly.” He kissed his way along John’s jaw.

“I made a promise didn’t I?” John moaned and pushed his hips down against sherlock’s as his fingers as usual found themselves in Sherlock’s hair, petting and scratching lightly against his scalp. 

Sherlock made a purring sound. “Mine,” his tongue flicked out against John’s neck, “Safe.”

A click came from just outside the door, “You should revise that statement.” 

Sherlock’s head whipped up and around to see Violet Holmes standing there, an Underground gun in hand.

John turned to look at the woman, eyes narrowed. He mentally willed Sherlock to make a grab for the gun at the back of his trousers but it didn’t seem to get across. “What are you doing?”

“Hands where I can see them, both of you, or one of you will find yourself splattered with the other’s blood.” She smiled, cold and sharp when Sherlock’s hands slid into full view. “As for what I’m doing Hunter Watson, I am getting justice for my Sieger.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “It’s been you. You’re the serpent in the nest. Everything would have crossed the Council’s board. Until we made plans just between us four.”

“Quite irritating to come here I can assure you. Out of the truck, slowly.”

John slid off Sherlock’s lap and made his way out of the truck, trying his best to keep himself between his mate and the madwoman with a gun. “Why work with a human? And you are betraying Mycroft as well as Sherlock. Oh God, you’ve let Moriarty turn you into a puppet...Not intelligent as your sons then, quite stupid in fact.” 

She chuckled, “Oh quite the other way around Hunter Watson. Moriarty works for _me_.”

Sherlock inhaled sharply, “Explain.”

“I’ve spent centuries, and used a variety of methods, to eradicate you without calling up the suspicion of the council. Before Mycroft’s human came into the picture I had almost managed it, that poisoned junkie’s blood was no accident. Had Mr. Lestrade not worked so hard to save you that night, you would have died, at long last. But no, he got you to the hospital where my baby’s people took over and then he gave you something to focus on and the compulsion didn’t work very well any longer.”

“What are you?” John stared at the creature in front him. He’d not encountered many monsters in his life but this was a real live one standing opposite him. “I would call you insane but that would be an insult to the mentally unstable. You are the poison and one way or another I am going to take you out of this world.” John wondered if he could get her to make a mistake if he got her angry enough, he only needed a moment to reach either the gun or the knife he was carrying. “No wonder your mate went batshit crazy, I would too at the prospect of having to spend eternity with you.”

Her eyes flashed but she only firmed her grip on the gun, “You are free to believe as you wish of course Hunter Watson. It won’t change the outcome. You simply had to interfere, so much of this could have been avoided if you’d walked away after meeting the mutant at St. Barts. But you didn’t and ruined another lovely plan. Both pills were poison of course, Mr. Hope never noticed the shadowstalker pickpocketing him. Belladonna, so elegant.”

“Belladonna isn’t lethal, not to vampires.” Sherlock’s eyes were sharp on her.

“Not to other vampires but at the time it would have been quite lethal to you. You never once thought to question it did you?”

“Question what?” John didn’t get it, he was not close to his family but for a mother to spend centuries cooking up plans to get her own son murdered, it was incomprehensible to him. He would do absolutely everything in his power to keep Sherlock safe, hopefully if they could keep her talking for long enough, help would come.

“Why he called me ‘mother’ I certainly never encouraged it.”

“What did you do?” Sherlock felt cold slither up his spine.

“A spirit rift. Making you highly susceptible to suggestions made by myself or Sieger, more vulnerable physically, and crippled emotionally. However it had the side effect of you forming attachments to the oddest things, such as calling me Mother, a trait picked up from watching the children around the village who spoke sweetly to their mothers to gain favor. You also clung to anyone stupid enough to show you affection despite your freak genetics.”

“You don’t get it do you? You are the one who is stumbling around in the dark. You made Sherlock vulnerable in all those ways and he was still strong enough to care despite that, despite your efforts.” John took a small step closer to her. “You can spout whatever bullshite you want about freak genetics or your dead loony mate but the truth is you hate Sherlock because you are afraid of him. You felt how strong he would be even in the womb and it terrified you to death because you wouldn’t be able to control him...And you were right. Sherlock has always been too strong for you and he always will be.”

“Oh enough chatter,” she pulled the trigger, sending a dart into John’s shoulder then shot again, another dart hitting Sherlock in mid-lunge, the instant paralysis drug dropping them to the ground. She disarmed John and picked him up, “We shall see how strong he is when forced to watch his mate bleed out on camera.” She carried John into her car, “I do hope you’ve made out your will Hunter Watson.”

Sherlock tried to move to shout, anything, as Violet drove away, John in the car with her.

Hettie was walking out to the birdfeeder with breadcrumbs when she noticed the open door of the truck. Smiling to herself about impatient boys she walked to close it when she caught sight of Sherlock on the ground. She was on her knees beside him in a second, checking his vitals. Hettie could see that something was wrong, very wrong and she was just as quickly back on her feet, running for help, hoping that Master Mycroft and Greg were still in the kitchen.

Greg was mid-laugh at the bit of whipped cream that had somehow landed on Mycroft’s nose when Hettie rushed in and the amusement died faster than you could blink. “Hettie? What’s wrong?” He was already standing up.

“It’s Master Sherlock, outside by the truck...I think he’s been drugged.” Hettie wrung her hands, her face pale with worry.

Mycroft was out of the room and on his way outside before she had even finished her sentence.

Greg took Hettie’s shoulders, “Go tell Thomas and ask him to get the video footage from the driveway.” Then he was out the door and kneeling beside Mycroft as his lover pulled a dart out of Sherlock’s neck. 

Mycroft brought the dart up to his nose and sniffed it, lip curling in disgust and slight horror. “Paralytic, body shutting down but mind perfectly clear.” He looked around for John even though it was clear the hunter was gone. John wouldn’t have been anywhere but at Sherlock’s side if he had a chance. Mycroft placed his arms around his little brother and lifted him. “Let’s get him inside, too many eyes out here.”

Greg’s eyes swept the scene and he spotted two holes in the gravel of the drive, the kind that heels left behind and felt a cold call form in his stomach. He followed Mycroft inside, to where he lay Sherlock down away from prying eyes, “Any idea how long the paralysis will last?”

“Not exactly but most paralytics that work on Underground people last for around an hour, some take longer and some fade quicker. It also depends on the individual drugged. Sherlock has high tolerance against drugs and he’s the most stubborn git in the world so I would say around thirty minutes before he gets at least some motor functions back.” Mycroft tried to hold back his worry but he was failing miserably. “It was Mother, I could smell her out there. Mother is the mole.”

“Shit,” Greg lifted a hand to the back of Mycroft’s neck, “God I’m sorry baby.” He looked up as Thomas came in, a portable video player in hand.

“I’ve tha footage lads. I c’n honestly say it makes me sick. I’ve already sent people out to track Violet as weel.”

Greg took the player, “Thank you Thomas.”

“Yes, thank you.” Mycroft moved so he could see the screen and pressed play, watching the exchange between his mother, Sherlock and John, everything leading up to John being taken away. Rage and concerned warred inside him. John was Sherlock’s mate, making him Mycroft’s brother as well and knowing that it was his mother who was behind this, who had betrayed them all, it was almost unbearable. “I should have let John kill her when he had the chance.”

He didn’t say anything. What could he say to that? Agreeing would hurt Mycroft, even if his lover might wish to believe otherwise at this particular moment, but so would offering platitudes about Violet being his mother. Greg reached up to rub the back of Mycroft’s neck, silent support. A soft, strained sound from Sherlock had him laying a comforting hand over the younger Holmes’. “That’s it kid, fight it off. We need your brain here you clever bastard.”

Mycroft looked over at his younger brother, he knew better than to try and touch him but his features softened. "Yes we need you right now, put that godawful stubbornness to good use and fight it off." He didn't say that John needed him, that was glaringly obvious and voicing it out loud would only hurt.

Greg noticed the evil glare Sherlock managed despite struggling past the paralytic and shook his head, “Oh you know you’re hellishly stubborn Sherlock don’t even try to pretend. It’s good and bad depending on the situation, right now, good, very good.” He blinked as he felt fingers wrapping weakly around his wrist and looked down to see Sherlock’s hand moving sluggishly. He looked back to the drugged vampire, “Yeah kid?”

Sherlock’s mouth worked silently for a few moments before he managed to squeeze out a couple words, “Bow...pear.”

“What?”

Mycroft was well aware of the fact that Sherlock would not have wasted energy saying those words if they weren’t important. He tried, he truly tried to get his mind to work and understand what his brother meant but he felt shattered. Nothing had ever hit this close to home since the ‘incident’ with his father. As long as he could stay detached then Mycroft had no problems thinking but when it came to family he was a mess. 

Sherlock made a sound of frustration and managed to get enough movement to point at a fleur-de-lis, giving Lestrade a pointed look.

It only took the space of a breath for understanding to settle in, “Oh. Not bow pear, beau-père. You’re calling _me_ beau-père.”

Understanding lit up Mycroft’s eyes and he felt a slight lump in his throat. He swallowed desperately to make it go away, he didn’t do emotions like that. “You are the closest thing to a father he’s ever had.” He looked at Greg. “It’s family.”

“Well of course we’re family you twit,” he gave Sherlock a gentle smile and helped lever him into a sitting position, remembering how much he hated to lay down when injured or sick. “I already told you that.” His wrist was caught again as he saw Sherlock gasp in a breath and actually flush briefly. “Alright I’m missing something I think. A big something.”

Mycroft had taken to pace the carpet back and forward, back and forward. Then he felt like kicking himself but he was sure Sherlock would do it for him once he regained mobility. Oh he was stupid, so, so stupid. He had just watched the surveillance video of what had happened and he still hadn’t gotten it. There was no audio on the video but it was centuries since he’d learned how to read lips. “The spirit rift!” He turned to the other two men. “Brilliant Sherlock.”

“Spirit rift? How about a little information for the human in the room?” Greg looked between the two. “And I saw that eye roll Sherlock.”

“I don’t have all the information and I had no idea that they could do something like that.” Mycroft didn’t really know how to explain. “From what Mother said on the video, she and Father called forth a spirit rift to make Sherlock vulnerable, both to words and actions. They wanted him weaker so they could kill him easier. By admitting his affections, Sherlock is closing the rift, leaving it with no power over him.”

Lestrade wasn’t the best with the scientific method but he was incredible at making inferences based on emotional evidence and he narrowed his eyes, “They put a tear in your _soul_?”

Sherlock managed a nod, movement coming back to him in increments as he forced himself to continually try moving.

Greg was horrified, absolutely horrified. How could anyone feel so much hatred for another, especially a _baby_ , that they purposefully tore their soul in two? The damage that would cause... “Jesus,” he moved to sit next to Sherlock, almost unconsciously shielding him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know if it is worth anything but I believe John was right, what I could read from his lips anyway...I believe they feared you, both Mother and Father. I do know about you being the stronger of the two of us you know. Not an idiot.” Mycroft crouched in front of his brother. “Guessing here but I think Mother and Father consulted a seer or the oracles when they found themselves pregnant again. They were told something they didn’t like and grew afraid of you. That doesn’t excuse a thing though and I am sorry. I had no idea what they had done.” Mycroft needed Sherlock to know that, he might be selfish but he would never have caused a spirit rift in anyone much less his own brother.

Sherlock flexed his jaw a couple times, opened and closed his hand, then struck out to whack Mycroft on the back of the head, not hard and certainly not with enough force to cause injury, just a shock, “Idiot. I knew that.” Relief flickered through him at the return of his speech, “I’ve never blamed you for their actions.” He’d only ever blamed Mycroft for turning his back on him, nothing else, until he’d buggered up the Moriarty situation anyway.

Sherlock should blame him though. Mycroft should have seen that nothing about how his parents acted regarding Sherlock was normal. He _should_ have known so that he could have done something about it. Right now was not the time for self loathing and guilt though, right now was all about getting John back. “Do you think she took John to Moriarty or somewhere else?”

“To Moriarty certainly. She wants me to suffer.” And what better way to make him suffer than to put his mate in the hands of the psychopath who’d made him jump off a roof?

Mycroft bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to curse but his mother wouldn’t get him to stoop that low. He blew out a deep breath through his nose. “Mother knows John’s a hunter, it would make sense for them to keep him drugged in some way to make him a lesser threat. That or to bind him with fairy ropes.” He knew every word would hurt Sherlock but in order to save John they would have to think of everything.

Lestrade wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders comfortingly when he saw him make a fist. “Probably fairy ropes.”

Sherlock nodded, his heart in absolute agony, “Moriarty and Moran will want to torture John and the energy of the vortex will heighten John’s senses so that any drug that would subdue him would also dull any pain. And they’ll know I’m coming.”

“I’ll call the UG unit chief in Avebury, let him know what going down. Councilwoman or not, kidnapping and assault of a mate isn’t something that’ll be tolerated I don’t think. And I can’t imagine creating a spirit rift is legal.”

“It is very much _not_.” Sherlock’s voice was tight, “Go Lestrade, make those calls.”

Greg got up, squeezing Sherlock’s shoulder, then headed out, caressing Mycroft’s cheek on his way.

Mycroft took comfort in the small touch and got up from his crouching position to resume his pacing. “They will know you’re coming, you’re right about that and I bet they are counting on the vortex to affect you as well.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Did you have a chance to feed from John today before they took him?” 

“No,” Sherlock wouldn’t remind his brother that ‘they’ was the wrong term. It would do nothing but cause Mycroft pain and, as much as he was often frustrated by his brother, he didn’t wish to do that. He rolled his shoulders and carefully got to his feet, holding on to the sofa to support himself as he worked to get his limbs working again. “But I fed yesterday, I am well inured to expending massive effort on little blood with my senses dulled.” He’d done it more than a few times, experimenting around vortices in order to lessen their impact on him.

“Good, I was thinking more about John but that’s good.” Besides in the company of Mother, Moran and Moriarty, John would probably bleed. It was sad that Mycroft thought that to be a good thing. 

“He won’t be in danger of that yet,” Sherlock’s claws slid out, back in, then out once more as he lost a bit of his temper, gained control again, then decided that it would be best to flex all his abilities as he recovered from the drug. “And we’ve the advantage of them thinking that I won’t allow others in on the rescue effort or that I will tear off on my own as I normally do.”

“Yes, Mother will expect that from you.” Mycroft looked at his brother. “With her as the mole I can use all of my resources again. All my forces are yours, you know that. Anything I can do to help, I’ll do it.”

“I know you will. I trust you in this,” Sherlock met his brother’s eyes, “I do trust you to help however you are able Mycroft. You annoy me infinitely, but you are my brother. Past the old resentments, you are important to me, just as the rest of those I consider true family are.”

“You are important to me too and I promise that I will not let you down in this.” This was probably the one and only time the two of them would admit this much in words. Mycroft was already getting uncomfortable, not because he didn’t mean his words, he did. He loved Sherlock and he didn’t want to disappoint him again. Emotions were just scary. 

Sherlock felt another bit of himself shift and settle in his chest. It was odd, feeling pieces that had been disconnected for so long fusing together again. “I know,” he looked up as a very somber Lestrade came back in, “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, “Not the time. We’ve got the full support of the Avebury UG force and a council Guardian unit is on their way to assist as well. We’d best get on the road. You can finish getting back to movement on the way.”

Mycroft was torn, he wanted to go, he wanted to fight but he didn’t know where he would be most useful, there as a fighter or here as an enabler so to speak. In the end he turned to Sherlock. “Where do you need me?”

“In a mobile command van,” Sherlock let Lestrade grip his elbow to support him as they walked out of the room.

“Which Thomas has conveniently provided, disguised as flower delivery, and has idling in the drive for us.” 

“Drifty our Thomas.” Mycroft had to smile despite the situation, despite worry for John and for Greg, something had happened to put that grim expression on his lover’s face. “Thomas has seen more battles that the three of us put together. I’ll bring my laptop, Anthea will be my hands here.” As they walked he called for another van filled with his people, both human and Underground and all fighters to follow them. All help could be useful.

Anthea, well used to her boss, passed him his laptop on his way out, “The second van is already loading and will be following within ten minutes sir. I am setting up channels of communication between the various units and will monitor from here. Go get Dr. Watson and sir?”

What would he do without Anthea? His empire would crumble and Britain along with it. He paid her an obscene amount of money in salary but she was more than worth it. “Yes Anthea.” He stopped in front of her with a raised brow.

She passed him a small injection gun filled with a virulent green liquid and met his eyes meaningfully, “For use in extreme emergency but stay in the van.” The ‘no matter what’ was unspoken.

“I’ll do what I can to obey you, just like always.” He took the small gun and and slid it into his suit jacket. He couldn’t promise to stay inside the van, he would try but if anything happened to Greg, Sherlock or John he would be out there, doing all he could to help them. “Keep the communication lines open and handle things on this end.” Mycroft gave her a grateful nod and climbed into the van.

Sherlock let Lestrade put him in the front passenger seat and looked over at Thomas, sitting in the driver’s seat as Mycroft and Greg got into the back and began setting up coordination. “Well you’re armed to the teeth.”

“Aye that I am lad. Ma job tae watch yer back innit?”

Sherlock smiled, “Thank you Uncle Thomas.”

“Och now doona go makin me tear up now lad.” he thumped Sherlock on the shoulder affectionately, “I’ll be givin ya tha hug an’ cry treatment when we all get back home safely. Now let’s go.”

_**To be continued…** _


	16. Part Sixteen

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; Captured John, violence and death of one or more characters. Mystical Moran._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Sixteen._ **

Violet sat in a comfortable chair like some regal queen and watched as Sebastian Moran circled the bound hunter like a hungry tiger circled prey. Over in the corner, in a medical cot, Moriarty lay watching, unable to speak just yet as the potions and magic hadn’t yet rebuilt his verbal neural pathways.

He might still be recuperating but Moriarty’s eyes were still dark and soulless. John had felt the familiar wave of loathing the minute he’d seen the man. John’s body was still a bit sluggish, not that it mattered since they had trussed him up like a Holiday turkey. His jaw was set in a stubborn line as he waited, waited for Moran to decide just what to do with him.

“You know Hunter Watson; you’ve made things very difficult for us since you walked into the Searcher’s life.” Moran didn’t sound particularly irritated or anything beyond a pleasant growling voice imparting simple information.

“I would apologize for any caused inconvenience but I am not even a little bit sorry.” John stared straight ahead, not giving Moran the satisfaction of following him with his eyes as the other man continued to circle him. “Perhaps you should surround yourself with other company than losers and crazy bitches and that would solve your problems.”

“Not simply a hunter, not simply a doctor, a warrior. I do so enjoy warriors,” Moran came around to the front of John, looking down at him, “Nothing we do will break you. I’ve known others like you, Spartan.” He cocked his head and tapped John’s shoulder, where the scar was under his shirt. “You’d have carried a brass shield had you been born twenty five hundred years ago.”

“Do you have a point to all this sweet talking? Because if this is all going to lead up to a dinner invitation I must tell you that I am afraid I’m already taken.” John just wished Moran would get on with it. Beatings would be easier to handle than just inane chatter.

“Yes I know. Mated to the Searcher, the counterpart with the broken heart. Lucky. I’m not going to bleed you, well not until your mate gets here, no point to it otherwise. Torturing you would be unnecessary effort; I’m not fond of unnecessary effort.” He grabbed a folding metal chair, turned it round, and sat on it, arms folded across the top casually, “What makes you, a human, lucky enough to get the Searcher?” 

John shifted a little and raised his chin to hold his head straight as best he could in his bound position. “I don’t know, I’ve asked myself the same question many times. What makes you unfortunate enough to be stuck here with tweedle dee and tweedle dum?” 

“I’ve wondered that for eleven thousand years Spartan.” He held up a gun at Violet, who froze, a throwing knife in hand, “Ah-ah, you don’t get to play yet Kitten. You tried to destroy the Balance, broke it in two, you don’t get to play until I say so.”

“You know, you’re starting to grow on me Moran...I would like you even more if you just shot her but still, I am enjoying the way it looks as if she’s about to get a stroke out of anger.” John was worried though, eleven thousand years? What the fuck was Moran? John was in the middle of a bloody vortex, all senses sharpened and he felt nothing out of the ordinary from the other man. 

“No. No. I’ll let the Fox do the shooting. That’s his job, preordained. Had the Kitten there not tried to break the Balance he’d have been the Executioner, instead he’s the Guardian. Funny how all those little bits of free will reshape fate isn’t it Spartan?” Without looking he fired, the bullet ricocheted and took out one high heel, sending the vampire falling backwards into her chair.

“Hilarious.” John answered in a deadpan. “Never been a too big fan of the fates though, bitches all of them.”

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you. After all, they were the ones to choose who is paired with the heart of the Balance after Kitten broke it in two then tore the half she was supposed to protect. Were it not for them you wouldn’t be lucky Spartan, you’d be dead in Afghanistan and the Searcher would have died as well. They’re used to people cursing them but no need to tempt their ire.” He tucked his gun away. 

“Very well, they have my sincerest apologies. For bringing me to Sherlock I’m willing to kiss each and every one of their little toes.” John shifted again, his muscles screaming, both from the paralytic lifting and from being forced into one position.

“Pity you’re going to have to die Spartan. I think I quite like you.” Moran noticed the uncomfortable shifting, “Ah the drug is fading, that means that the Searcher is already more than halfway here I’d wager.” He grabbed the walkie at his waist, “Clear the halls. I want Holmes to arrive here with quickly.” A wheeze from Moriarty drew his attention and he met the dark eyes, “Amending that, minimal guard postings. He expects some trouble so we’ll have to give it to him.”

“That won’t be trouble for him. a nuisance perhaps but not trouble.” John shifted again and wondered just what sort of bond existed between Moran and Moriarty. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you but I don’t plan to die just yet. Not until I’ve dances on limpy over there’s grave.”

Anger flickered through Moran’s eyes for the first time and he leaned back, “Alright Kitten. You’re up. Keep it shallow or I’ll use the silver bullets on your knees.”

Violet got up, expression cold, and came over to John, pressing the blade of her knife to the edge of his jaw in a long cut that spilled crimson over his skin.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock double checked the gun Lestrade had given him while waiting for the former DI to finish his farewell to Mycroft. He was pushing the light-headed feeling of being on the vortex to the back of his mind to focus on the facility they were parked across from, where John was being held.

“I know you always are but be careful.” Right now Mycroft didn’t care that Sherlock and Thomas was there as he cupped the back of Greg’s neck and kissed him. “Stay smart and stay in contact, if not I’m coming in to get you.”

Greg cradled Mycroft’s face in his hands, “You’ve got the surveillance to make sure we’re alright,” there was a miniscule camera pinned to his collar, “And Anthea sounded like there’s a reason beyond your safety and directing us that you need to stay here.” He kissed Mycroft again, “So let’s trust the dryad with the oracle connections hmm? We’ll be back baby. I promise.”

“Watching surveillance isn’t the same as knowing you are alright.” Mycroft was horribly frustrated to sit and watch as his loved ones went into battle. “I will stay put though...for now at least.” He pressed one more kiss to Greg’s lips. “Now go while I can still let you go.”

He nodded and had his gun pulled and ready as he joined Sherlock and Thomas. He looked at the Scotsman, who had a gun in one hand and a longsword in the other, then at the other fighters, UG officers, and the council enforcers who’d joined them, raised two fingers and made the universal signal for ‘let’s move out’. 

Sherlock stayed at Lestrade’s elbow until they entered the building, two shots from behind them took out the first set of guards and he began to run, catching the scent of John’s blood in the air despite the suppression of his senses. His mind was working as he worked with Lestrade to take out the people they ran into, and he realized they were going to the hidden medical wing. It made sense if Moriarty was still bed ridden. 

He jumped over a fallen guard, leaving Lestrade behind, and soon burst into the room holding John, Moran, Moriarty, and Violet Holmes.

Why was he rushing in before the others? As relieved as John was to see him he also wanted to scold his mate for not waiting. He was still bound and bleeding from several shallow cuts that Violet Holmes had gleefully delivered. 

“I’d put that weapon down if I were you Searcher, unless you want Kitten here to kill your Spartan,” Moran stood to face Sherlock, gun drawn, eyes scanning him up and down, “Hm decent. So are you going to let her cut his throat open? You could try to shoot her before she does but then I’d shoot you and the good Spartan would be next.”

Sherlock saw the blade at John’s neck and dropped the gun he held. Lestrade and others were behind him so he could afford to wait. “What’s the purpose of this?”

“Oh you’ll find out.” Moran smirked, “Very shortly as a matter of fact,” he dropped one hand from his gun to pull out an amulet, letting it catch the light. “I’ve waited a very long time for this.”

“For what exactly?” John didn’t care that the knife bit into his skin as he spoke, it was a shallow cut. “Why would someone as old as you wait thousands of years just to align yourself with Moriarty?” John was curious, he could admit that but more importantly he wanted Sherlock to know that Moran was not at all what he seemed to be. 

“Oh it’s very simple, there was never supposed to be a James Moriarty _and_ a Sherlock Holmes. Not as we know them in any case. The only James Moriarty that was supposed to exist is the sociopath behind the mathematics desk. But Kitten, well when she and her mate heard about what they were going to bring into the world, they panicked and tried to stop it, tried to kill it.” Moran shook his head, “Foolish. Something that big, that important, you can’t just kill it. But you can break it and they did, broke it right in two. Between the Heart and the Mind.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, “No.”

“Oh yes. When Violet tried to kill you as a fetus she split what was supposed to be, sent the formless Mind back into the ether. Took centuries for the fates to find it again and by that time you were in pieces, once again thanks to Violet Holmes and her mate. You couldn’t be forged back together with the Mind while you, the Heart, were in pieces.”

“What are you planning to do?” John’s eyes were wide and his muscles tensed. He wanted to struggle, fight, throw himself in front of Sherlock and protect him. “I don’t give a bloody fuck if it’s been broken in two, you are not touching Sherlock, not doing anything to him. I don’t have buggering clue what you are Moran but touch Sherlock and I _will_ kill you...After I kill Limpy.”

Moran’s jaw clenched, “You are not in a position to do anything Spartan. Though I will thank you, for piecing the Heart back together enough that the Balance can be restored.” He began chanting in Greek, the amulet in his hand glowing gold.

Sherlock gasped and hit his knees, his chest awash and flooded with pain. It was like someone was trying to rip his ribcage apart. He could feel his spirit being pulled on, feel something trying to take it out of him, and in his head he screamed and fought, but knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Fuck this, if he died, he died but he wouldn’t let Sherlock be in pain like this. John threw his head backwards, knocking Violet out of balance and then he called on all the strength in his body to shoot forward despite his bonds to bowl into Moran making the other drop the amulet and the chant to break off. John knew he had only bought some time but he hoped it would be enough.

Sherlock choked and coughed, blood bubbling up between his lips, his hand clutching at his chest as he continued to fight. The pull on his spirit was still there but not the inevitable loss of before. He reached out and tried to pull his soul back.

Moran growled and righted himself before kicking John onto his stomach and placing his boot between his shoulder blades, holding him down with ease. He didn’t bother trying to pick the amulet back up but he resumed the chant, watching as Sherlock screamed and curled in on himself, trying to stop the ritual. 

A loud bellow came from the door as Thomas barreled forward, sword slashing at Moran’s chest, all his weight toppling the unknown man off of Sherlock and into the wall.

Violet hissed and took up her knife, lunging for Sherlock, intent on killing him. A bang filled the room as her head exploded.

Greg followed through making sure she was dead before firing a second time, at Moriarty, then a third, that shattered the amulet. He pulled out a knife and cut John’s bonds as an agonized sound came from Moran.

John mumbled a quick thank you to Greg before crawling over to Sherlock. From the sound Moran had made he knew that Moriarty was dead, John was only sad he hadn’t gotten to kill the man himself. 

“Sherlock, Sherlock are you okay?” He caressed a much too pale cheek and placed his other hand over Sherlock’s frantically beating heart.

Sherlock was gasping for air, feeling like he was ripped apart, and the only thing registering was John’s presence, his hands on him, and he tried to reach out and pull John close but he couldn’t. It felt as if he made a move, his spirit would go flying off into nothing and he’d never get it back.

Around the two of them was chaos, Thomas and Moran hammering on each other, and Greg shouting for Thomas to get back and give him a clear shot. Every blow the vampire rained upon Moran with the sword healed almost instantly. The wirey Scot was tiring but he saw that Moran wasn’t, not at all, and the man was fueled by rage. So Thomas took his sword, plunged it right through Moran’s heart when the Colonel gave him an opening and kicked him back, giving Greg time to fire.

The former DI fired repeatedly, each bullet barely making a dent as Moran remained standing, even with the sword in his chest, until the clip was empty. He quickly pulled a special ammunition with a vibrant orange band around the base from a breast pocket, loaded the single shot in, and fired, the kickback pushing him against the wall and the actual shot hitting Moran and throwing him out the window.

“Oh God, what is wrong? What can I do?” John looked around, still running his hands over Sherlock, his throat closed up with worry. He had looked up to make sure both Greg and Thomas were well. Then several of Mycroft’s men rushed into the room, John only had eyes for Sherlock though.

Outside Mycroft was out of the van, he had followed the events both by audio and camera and now he had had enough. He was not going inside but then again Moran wasn’t inside anymore either. Anthea had said nothing about the grounds.

A savage growl came from behind the master vampire and then Moran hit him with all the force of a freight train, gripping him around the throat and lifting him off the ground. The sword was still in his chest, along with a slowly closing hole the size of a pie pan, and his eyes had an otherworldly glow to them, powered by hate and anger.

Mycroft felt a crushing pressure over his throat and windpipe and gods it hurt, he was not going to let this monster hurt his brother or his family anymore though. Moran might have been a good man once but Mycroft had never even claimed to be good, he was protective though. With some struggling he managed to get his hand into his pocket and he pulled out the small gun Anthea had given him. He pressed it to Moran’s temple and pulled the trigger.

The liquid in the injection chamber disappeared into Moran’s head and almost immediately, venomous green and gold lines began to stand out on his body, following the path of blood vessels. He sucked in one, hard, desperate breath, then collapsed to the ground, dead.

Coughing Mycroft fell to the ground in a heap. Breathing hurt like a bitch and even as a vampire he figured he would have some spectacular bruises around his neck for a while. He reached for his phone and made a call to his assistant. What he’d seen and heard before he rushed out of the van worried him.

“Anthea, how do we get Sherlock’s soul inside him?” If his voice sounded strange, well then he would blame it on the bruised throat.

“The answer is in the riddle. I’m sorry sir but I can not say anything more. I wish I could.” If she broke the rules now, then Sherlock would die and in a worse way than the world could handle.

“Okay, thank you, I will not push.” He knew as well as she did that she couldn’t say anything more. “Can you tell me if I still shouldn’t go inside?” Mycroft was going over the riddle again and again in his head, trying to figure it out.

“As you left the van, despite my warning,” disapproval dripped from her voice, “you are in for a penny, in for a pound sir.”

“I’m sorry for that Anthea, I am but it’s family.” Mycroft was already on his feet, running inside the building, breathe wheezing. “You are too good for me, always have been and you can scold me when we get back.” He ended the call and let the phone drop into his pocket.

Greg had knelt on Sherlock’s other side, he didn’t dare touch him as Sherlock had flinched and whimpered when anyone but John touched him. Now he was trying to raise Mycroft in the van. “Mycroft. Mycroft. God damn it Mycroft if you left the van my boot prints are going to be bruising your arse for a week solid!”

Thomas pat Greg on the shoulder, “Hettie will help ya lad.” He looked at John, “Ye’ve got tae do something John.”

“I don’t know what to do.” John knew he was crying but he didn’t give a flying fuck. He was a doctor, he was supposed to be able to fix things but he had no idea how to fix this, how to make Sherlock better. “Sherlock...” He smoothed dark curls away from his mate’s forehead and kissed him. “That bastard ripped out his soul, take mine instead, I’ll give everything for you Sherlock, everything I am...It’s already yours so just take it.” 

Mycroft burst into the room, looking around with wide eyes before they landed on Greg next to his brother.

Greg gripped him by the tie, “I am kicking your arse once we get home after this mess is sorted,” he looked down, “What do we do?”

Sherlock heard them all, heard John, but he didn’t want to take John’s soul from him. Never. He just wasn’t strong enough to bring his own back to him alone.

John laid down on the floor and wrapped himself around Sherlock, enveloping him in his limbs. “I love you, you are my everything, don’t leave me.”

Mycroft, pulled the tie away from Greg’s grip. “Kick my arse all you want later, just stay away from the neck for a while please.” He looked at his brother and his mate. “Anthea says the answer is in the riddle.”

“Fuck,” Greg scrubbed at his hair, “Okay, okay. Think. Think, think, think, think, think. ‘Healer, Hunter stand your ground, beaten, battered, tied and bound. Hold it hard, your precious gift; use your soul to mend the rift.’ Sherlock wouldn’t take John’s soul, because then he wouldn’t be...Sherlock anymore and John wouldn’t be John. Not to mention Sherlock’s stubborn as fuck.”

Thomas rumbled, “John has tae mend it, nay replace it but fix what’s broken.”

“Bugger, of course. John listen to me,” Greg’s voice was stern, commanding, “Find Sherlock's soul with yours, find it and help him bring it back.”

John gave a short nod that he’d heard but he stayed where he was, wrapped around Sherlock. He closed his eyes and tried to open his mind, to let his soul reach out for Sherlock’s. He could do this, they belonged to each other, they were one already. 

Mycroft rubbed at his neck and watched the couple on the floor, desperately wishing that John would be successful. 

Greg reached up and moved Mycroft’s hand out of the way, eyes heating in quiet fury at the marks on his lover’s neck. He’d be having words with Mycroft later, when they were alone. For now though it was watching and waiting for John to pull a miracle out of the bag.

Sherlock felt a warm tickle alongside him that soon solidified into John’s presence. He reached out, a little hesitant because nothing was more vulnerable than your soul out in the open, but he reached out and brushed against his mate, seeking the strength and protection John always provided.

Just as John’s body was protectively wrapped around Sherlock, he did the same with his soul. He reached for Sherlock and wrapped around him there as well, projecting every ounce of love he felt for his mate into it, holding him, protecting him and loving him. He wanted Sherlock to know all was safe and that he would always take care of him.

Sherlock practically burrowed into John metaphysically, clinging to him as he fumbled around, trying to find his way back to where he was supposed to be, back inside his body. A thread of panic shimmered through him and he gave John a silent plea for help. ‘Please, take me home John.’

John was soothing, holding on, staying calm. ‘It’s okay, just follow me.’ He slowly began leading Sherlock back, staying close, wrapped around the soul of his mate all the way.

He held tight and let John lead him back, trusting him with everything he was until he felt himself back inside his body, felt his spirit filling his chest once more but it was still torn, bleeding. ‘Hurts. John, can you fix me?’

‘Yes, I’m going to fix you Sherlock.’ John stayed with Sherlock, taking his torn spirit and mending it, thread by thin silky thread, working just as carefully and dutifully as when he had performed surgery or stitched a wound closed. He didn’t care how long it took he would stay there until his mate was whole.

Sherlock felt his pieces slowly coming together, the bloody wound Moran had ripped into him closing and even the old, scarred split that his parents had created settled into place, flush against each other and held there with glue and threads that were pure John. He reached out, leaving just a bit of himself printed on his mate’s spirit, an equal exchange, given out of love. He opened his eyes on the physical plane and wrapped his arms around John, “I’m back John. I’m here.”

John slowly pulled his spirit back, leaving a small part behind to watch over Sherlock’s, to keep it whole as his arms tightened around Sherlock and he buried his tear stained face against his mate’s shoulder.

Mycroft let out a breath of relief when he heard his brother’s voice, his knees almost buckling. Thank god, he had been more afraid than he wanted to admit.

Greg closed his eyes and sighed, “God. Sherlock one day you’re going to give me a heart attack I bloody swear.”

Sherlock lifted a shaking hand to smooth over John’s hair, “Mate with my brother and get changed and you won’t have to worry about that.”

An incredulous laugh broke from the UG lieutenant, “Yeah, you’re back alright. Smart-arse.”

“Thank the fates for that.” John’s voice was muffled against Sherlock’s shoulder, he still felt shell shocked and scared out of his mind about how close he had just come to losing Sherlock. “I mean it, if you hear me the offer to kiss your toes still stands.” John was aware that the others in the room looked at him funny but he couldn’t care less, he had his mate back.

“John the only toes you should kiss are mine. Besides as I understand it the fates prefer gifts and tributes from men to be the sort that keep any possibility of physical contact at nil.” He looked up as Greg touched his shoulder carefully, “Yes Lieutenant?”

“Let’s get you two up. You can banter once we’re home.”

“Moran?”

"Moran's dead." Mycroft replied shortly, he wasn't sure just what Anthea had given him but it had worked wonders. "Let's go home, nothing more to do here, I'll send in the cleaning crew."

John grunted and started to roll to his feet, feeling the kick to the stomach and the sting of the cuts. Christ he must look a mess from the blood. 

Sherlock moved with him, wobbling a bit. His...everything hurt. Every part of his body, every cell felt like it had just been seared and turned inside out though there wasn’t a mark on him. 

Greg hooked his hands under Sherlock’s arms and helped him stand, “If you wouldn’t pitch a fit I’d have the both of you strapped to a gurney because you’re both the walking wounded right now. Thomas if you would please assist John?”

“Aye lad,” Thomas gripped John’s arm firmly in support as Lestrade looped Sherlock’s arm around his neck.

Sherlock felt as awkward as a bloody newborn colt, his legs refusing to listen to him and support his weight. It was humiliating.

John accepted Thomas' help gratefully but his attention was still on Sherlock. It had been too close; he still felt the lump of fear in his throat. It felt as if he were to take his eyes off of Sherlock even for a second he might lose him. 

Mycroft took point, walking to talk to his men about what to do and how to dispose of the bodies, before they slowly made it out of the compound.

Greg waited for John to sit in the front passenger seat and then essentially picked Sherlock up and placed him in John’s lap. He then turned and clipped shortly to where Mycroft was firing off final orders. As soon as the minions were turned away and no one would see, he picked Mycroft up in a bridal carry, and hauled him into the back of the van. He set Mycroft in the command chair and slammed the van door shut, loud and sharply. 

Sherlock looked over John’s shoulder at his brother, then at Lestrade before burying his face in John’s shoulder and starting to shake with giggles. ‘Mycroft’s gonna get it.’

"Yup." That was all John managed to get out before dissolving into giggles himself, arms tight around Sherlock.

Mycroft's eyes were wide with shock and he just stared at his lover, mouth open but not a sound coming out. What the hell had just happened?

“Not here. Not yet.” The words were clipped and the look on Greg’s face made it clear that Mycroft would not want to push for him to talk just yet.

Thomas started the van with a chuckle, “Och Mycroft, laddie I wish ya luck fer later. Last time Hettie looked at me like that I couldnae sit fer a day and was sleeping on tha sofa for a week.”

Sherlock giggled some more into John’s shoulder at the thought of Lestrade banishing Mycroft to the sofa.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed and then turned icy as he slid his mask firmly into place, the first time he had done so in front of Greg since their first meeting. He remained silent and stared at the wall of the van.

John didn't envy either of them the discussion ahead of them, he just held his giggling mate closer and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's hair.

Greg just closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the van wall while he mentally talked his own temper down. He just really wanted to get home, take a long, scalding hot shower, force Mycroft to feed, then settle down for a nap, wrapped around his stubborn lover. With any luck as soon as they got back to the house his irrational anger would be cooled and nothing else would demand their attention.

_**To be continued…** _


	17. Part Seventeen

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; aftermath from last chapter’s events. A lot of Mystrade, smut._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Seventeen._ **

Of course Greg wasn’t that lucky as to get some rest and quiet. He and John followed Anthea, who was pushing the wheelchair Sherlock was in, and Mycroft to Mycroft’s office. As soon as they were inside, Mycroft sitting behind his desk and Anthea rolled the chair to a stop beside the small sofa that John dropped into, Greg went to perch his bum on the corner of Mycroft’s desk and watched as Anthea folded her arms across her chest and stared at Mycroft.

“Anthea, no intention of being rude but could you please just tell us what you asked to meet about?” Greg deflected her glare onto himself, “We’re all tired and I’m the only idiot in the room not in need of medical attention of some sort. So...”

She nodded, though she still looked as though she’d like to smack Mycroft over the head, “When I consulted Delphi I was given more than just the riddle but due to rules of fate could not impart that knowledge until all this came to pass. Mostly because of what Moran was but partially because of what Sherlock is.”

"The Balance...or half of it anyway. That was what Moran kept talking about." John reached out and took Sherlock's hand in his, lacing their fingers together. "Just what was Moran? Obviously powerful but he didn't seem anything other than human, I couldn't sense anything different about him." 

Mycroft was still stony silent and turned away from Greg but he listened intently to what was being said. Part of him was numb, despite the monster she had turned out to be had lost his mother today, he was now the oldest of his clan and he had no idea how to feel about that and with Greg so angry no one to seek comfort from.

Anthea tucked a hair that had fallen into her face away, “Moran was a god.” She only quirked a brow at the choking nose Lestrade made, “A lesser god born of Lyssa and one of her attendants but still a god.”

“Poor man, talk about getting shafted.” John shook his head. “I mean I’m not sorry he’s dead, he hurt Sherlock so he should most definitely be dead but still. The bloke waits eleven thousand years only to get stuck with Moriarty, that gotta sting.” John hated, absolutely hated what Sherlock parents had done to him but he couldn’t help but wonder what would have been if they hadn’t. Would Sherlock still be Sherlock and would John ever have met him? And the thing Moran said about Greg having been the executioner...John didn’t know what to think.

Greg made a sound that was perilously close to a growl, “A god. What the bloody hell is this mess about? What’s this Balance and what does it have to do with Sherlock? And why did Moran do what he did? And why did you tell Mycroft to stay in the van?” It seemed to him it had actually been safer with them in the thick of the fight.

“Because Moran, after being shot out of the window, was going to go for the van,” she held up a hand when Greg surged off the desk, mouth open, about to spew rage all over her, “and had Mr. Holmes stayed in the van he’d have had just enough time to inject the hind’s blood into Moran before even getting bruised.”

Oh Lestrade was seething now, he’d managed to bank his temper but it was back in full force now. He pressed his lips tightly together and sat back down on the desk but his hand went to wrap around Mycroft’s wrist, possessive and astonishingly gentle despite his anger.

Mycroft cleared his bruised throat, not pulling away from Greg’s grip but not doing much else either. “Forgetting my disobedience for a moment, just what did my parents do? The Balance, the Heart and the Head? What was it all about?”

“The Balance was meant to be just that, a being born into the world to create balance between the Underground and humans. Born of the Underground but raised by humanity so as to understand both sides.” Anthea shook her head sadly, “Powerful, very powerful. To the point that even the greatest masters wouldn’t have been able to bring down the Balance once reaching maturity. Violet and Sieger took that to mean that the baby would grow to usurp your place as Britain’s master.”

“So they tried to abort,” Sherlock’s voice was soft, curious, and not particularly upset.

She nodded, “The Fates stopped it every time without damage until the attempt that almost killed Violet as well. At that point something had to die, to pass on into the ether, because it had gone too far. The Fates chose the ‘Mind’ as Moran called it, knowing that they could retrieve it and, in time, fuse it back together with the ‘Heart’ of the Balance.”

“But then the Holmes’ called forth the spirit rift and broke the ‘Heart’, making it impossible to fuse the two back together. And the ‘Mind’ was born as a human. Is that something like what happened?” John held on to Sherlock’s hand tightly. He wondered if he would ever get over this feeling, this mind-stopping fear of losing Sherlock. Knowing that Sherlock was meant to have been someone else, that Moriarty was meant to be someone else...He didn’t know if that made it worse or better. Perhaps Moran had been right and John had only gotten in the way of Sherlock’s true destiny. 

“Yes, somewhat. The ‘Mind’ was born in Moriarty, not as him. ‘Mind’ isn’t really accurate for a description of what it is. It is more of an understanding of purpose, the logic of a king.”

“Knowing what has to be done for the good of the whole.” Greg’s thumb started making circles on the inside of Mycroft’s wrist.

“Yes. Or put into a madman, knowing what should be done to create the most chaos. The Mind alone is amoral, the power of it being directed by the desires of who it’s born into.”

“I understand what you are saying but I’m afraid I still do not understand all of it.” Mycroft’s voice was still hoarse. “How did Moran find Moriarty?” There were so many questions, when did their mother join forces with them? How had Moran planned to heal Sherlock’s heart if John hadn’t come along? Was Sherlock safe now? Was his soul complete? So, so many questions, Mycroft just didn’t know how to ask them or if they even mattered anymore. He settled on asking the one that did matter to him. “Is Sherlock safe? No more gods or madmen after his soul?”

“Yes. No one else will be coming after Sherlock. The Fates reclaimed the Mind and are holding it until such a time that the Balance is actively needed or Sherlock wishes to become it. He remains the Heart however.”

“What is the Heart if the Mind isn’t a mind then?” Greg frowned in confusion.

“Well, think about what John has been to Sherlock. Compassion and moral compass. Sherlock had to lock away all of that for survival. I suppose, in base terms, the Heart is to the Mind what John is to Sherlock. Moran found Moriarty because of a prophecy, a very fuzzy one. Simply put, chasing the Balance was to lead him to his ultimate destiny. He assumed that was to be the Balance’s partner.”

John squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “It sounded to me as if Moran has chased his destiny for a very long time. I don’t think he had any idea what to be if he wasn’t with the Balance.” John still couldn’t help but feel a little sad for the god. “I think he really cared for Moriarty as well, at least in some ways.”

Sherlock hummed, “Am I considered a broken soul?”

“No.” Anthea shook her head, “You’re a complete soul by all the laws of fate. That’s why they cannot force the Mind on you unless you request it or the existence of the universe is at stake. Because of the rift your soul was dying, past the point of reincarnation, so the Fates consulted Psyche and arranged to have your soulmate placed on Earth. You, Doctor Watson, have driven the three ladies to nearly tearing their hair out repeatedly over the millennia in all your incarnations. Your soul was actually casked to avoid that anymore but then Sherlock needed you.”

“Hmm, it sounded to Moran like I was just a mistake, an accident...” John shifted on the small couch, feeling mostly like a walking bruise. “The truth though is that I don’t really care. Fates or no fates, gods and men...If Sherlock needs me I will come, I can’t imagine it to have been any different through the ages or that it ever will be any different. I love him. _I_ John Watson love him, to me he is perfect and he always has been.” 

“You’re not an accident for certain. You were always supposed to meet up with Sherlock, technically you should have done much sooner,” she looked incredibly amused, “but you decided to join the army.”

Sherlock chuckled, “Good. I like my Captain Doctor just as he is.”

John grinned. “Just as I like you just the way you are...I don’t know what it would have been like if we had met earlier but I actually think we met when the time was just right.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of Sherlock’s hand. 

“Yes you likely did.”

“Is that all Anthea?” Greg looked at her, “I mean is there anything else we need to know about the mess that happened tonight?”

“Not really, but I do need to speak with Mr. Holmes privately so...” she arched her brows and looked pointedly at the door.

“Come on Sherlock.” John knew how to take a hint, besides he looked like a slaughterhouse with dried blood all over his face and neck and the doctor in him shuddered at the infection risk of having left it alone for so long. Besides he wanted to be alone with Sherlock, wanted to wrap himself around the other and just know he was there. He wheeled his mate out of Mycroft’s office and toward their suite.

Mycroft stayed in his seat, knowing he had little other choice if Anthea wished to speak with him.

Greg looked between them, squeezed Mycroft’s wrist, then walked out of the office. He didn’t head to their rooms however, choosing to lean on the wall and use the time to bank his temper down again.

Anthea moved to the vacated sofa and sank down on it with a weary sigh, “You scared the hell out of me sir.” It was stated without anger or malice.

“I’m sorry, I really am Anthea.” Mycroft left his office chair and went to sit on the arm of the couch. “I _couldn’t_ stay in the van. I was watching my loved ones hurt.” He rubbed his neck again. “Would you have stayed?”

“If another nymph with Delphi ties warned me to stay in the van? Yes. Stop rubbing, you’re making it worse,” she reached up and pulled his hand away from his neck, “But then I understand the way the threads weave and about the reasons for warnings on a different level than you. So I know why you left the van, hence the reason I’m no longer angry with you as I’ve had the time to work through it quietly here.” She pulled his hand open and tapped sharply on a new line that was appearing, “Lieutenant Lestrade has not yet had that time. Consider how you would be reacting were the situations reversed. He is the only one of those that went in who came out unscathed and he was in the middle of the action. In his mind you were supposed to be safe in the van but you, a vampire, have bruises on your neck. He’s not angry at you sir, he’s scared because he could have lost you and he’s angry about the situation.”

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He knew that Anthea was right in everything she was saying. Knowing she was right and liking it were two different things though. “I have no idea what I am doing Anthea, I’m not used to being considerate of someone else’s feelings and I am not good at it. Perhaps there’s more of my parents in me than I like to admit.” 

“No one ever knows what they’re doing when it comes to a relationship. Just do not push him away, right now you both need each other very much.” She traced a finger along his heart line before releasing his hand, “I will handle the clean up. Go to him, he’s waiting outside the door.”

“Thank you and even though you don’t like hearing it, take some time off after the clean up is done. Recharge your batteries.” Mycroft leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek before getting up and leaving the office, finding Greg leaning against the wall in the hallway. It was difficult but Mycroft managed to hold out a hand that wasn’t shaking toward his lover. “Let’s go to our rooms shall we?”

He curled his fingers around Mycroft’s, nodding carefully. He held tight as they walked through the house to their rooms, not letting go for even a moment, then, as soon as the door was locked, he pulled Mycroft in close against him, practically wrapping himself around the taller man while they were standing. 

Mycroft wrapped his own arms around Greg and leaned his head on his lover’s shoulder. “I...I am sorry and I do...apologize for scaring you. It was not my intention. I simply couldn’t stand it to sit there and just _watch_ any longer. You were hurt and Mother...Mother...Well that hardly matters. The point is that I am sorry.”

“There’s not a scratch or a bruise on me,” he ran his hand over Mycroft’s hair, “I’m tired and dirty from the fight but I wasn’t hurt. You don’t need to be sorry. I understand, I know why you left the van, I’d have done it too in your place.” He shifted just enough so his hands were lifting Mycroft by the bum so he could carry him over and sit down on their loveseat. “So you don’t need to be sorry, you’re forgiven, were as soon as I could think, after the adrenaline faded.” He shifted, ghosting his lips with the lightness of butterfly wings over one of the bruises on Mycroft’s throat.

He cupped Greg’s face and brought their lips together. “They’re just bruises, they will fade and quickly too, a couple of days and they will be gone completely.” Mycroft kissed Greg’s cheek and forehead. “I love you.”

He pressed his forehead to Mycroft’s, “I love you too, so much, and I am so sorry baby.” He ran his fingers in a petting motion through Mycroft’s hair, “I know today hurt you.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, absolutely nothing. The betrayal and learning the truth about who Mother really was, what she was capable of hurt more than her death.” Mycroft leaned into Greg’s touches. “I am thankful you took her out, that may be cowardly of me but it is true. If you hadn’t it would have fallen on me and killing one parent is hard enough...no matter how necessary it may be.”

“I’m sorry that you’re hurt at all. I’m sorry that she betrayed you, that she did...everything that she did. I’m sorry because I hate to see you hurt,” he brushed his lips over Mycroft’s gently, “and because I don’t quite know what to do to make it better.”

“Oh Greg, you are making it better by being here, by being you and by letting me love you.” Mycroft clung to the other man, all pride and shields gone. With Greg he could be just Mycroft. “Without you, I would crumble.”

“That’ll never happen because I am not going anywhere baby,” he brought his knees up so that Mycroft was cradled in his lap and he was surrounding him as best he could. “I’m here, so fucking glad to let you love me and grateful that I get to love you back.”

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes, burrowing as close to Greg as he could. He knew they should clean up, Greg must be hungry as well but he couldn’t get himself to move, didn’t want to lose the physical contact he had with Greg right now even for a moment. 

Greg continued petting and holding Mycroft, the banked anger finally fizzling out with the contact. He rocked a little bit where they sat, comforting the both of them. “You’re feeding tonight, no arguments baby. You’re hurt so you need blood.”

He closed his mouth on the argument that had been about to slip out. Damn Greg for being stubborn and for being right, he was hurt and drained emotionally and he needed to feed. “Fine but not before you have fed and fed properly.”

Greg kissed him, “I’m alright with that compromise. A shower and change into comfortable clothes for both of us first then we’ll eat.” He ran his hand down Mycroft’s back. “And after that we’re just going to curl up together, watch horribly rendered historical movies, and rest.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. It sounds so good I might not even argue about how inaccurate those movies are.” Mycroft held on to Greg. “Come on then, don’t think I’m going to release you even for a shower, luckily I have a big one.”

He chuckled, “Indeed you do.” Once inside the bathroom he began stripping Mycroft’s clothes off and letting him do the same to his. He caught Mycroft’s hand to press a kiss to his wrist. 

“I meant the shower you great pervert.” Mycroft was grinning though. As soon as their clothes were in the hamper he pulled his lover into the tiled shower, putting the water on and pulling his lover close, pressing a kiss to Greg’s wet shoulder before gathering soap in his hands and ran them over every inch of Greg, cleaning him lovingly.

Greg’s lips trailed over Mycroft’s chin. “You enjoy when I let my perverted mind out to play, don’t try to pretend you don’t.” He was washing Mycroft in return, making sure every crevice and dip and rise of his body was squeaky clean.

“I do, I thoroughly enjoy your perverted side since I am usually the one benefiting from it...Wait, scratch that, I better be the _only_ one benefiting from it.” Mycroft let his lips run over freshly cleaned skin, kissing and nipping.

“Of course you are. My God why would I ever want anyone else when I have you?” He nudged Mycroft so that the water from the shower could rinse the soap away, his hands still smoothing over the vampire’s skin.

Mycroft could think of a thousand reasons why Greg could do better than him but he wasn’t going to draw attention to them by naming them to his lover. Oh no. Mycroft was as possessive as they came and now that he had Gregory Lestrade as his own he was not about to let him go. He rubbed himself against Greg. “If we continue this for much longer than I am afraid the rest of our plans will be spoiled...it seems I can not be around you without wanting you.”

Greg gave him a peck on the lips, “We’ll see if we can squeeze some of that in after eating.” He turned the water off and grabbed towels for them.

Mycroft hummed in contentment as he dried himself with the soft flannel. “I suspect Hettie has spent the whole time we were gone cooking and baking for both you and John so we’ll see if you have any energy left after eating. Can we call up for food for you?” Mycroft didn’t want to put on another suit or clothes at all other than a pair of sleeping trousers. 

“Abso-bloody-lutely. I am all for not leaving our quarters for at least twelve hours, preferably twenty four.” He finished swiping the water from his body and grabbed the robe Mycroft had given him off its hook, shrugging into it.

Walking out of the bathroom naked, Mycroft walked over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of sleeping trousers in dark blue silk before phoning down to the kitchen to have Greg’s meal brought up. 

Greg just leaned against the wall and watched Mycroft move in the pajama bottoms. He was moving fine, obviously the bruises on his throat were the only injury but those were more than enough, especially since he could hear a note of roughness in Mycroft’s voice that didn’t belong. He walked up behind him and looped an arm around his waist in a gentle embrace.

Mycroft stilled what he was doing immediately and leaned back against Greg, his own hands resting on top of the arm around his waist. “What’s all this? Not that I am complaining one bit.”

“I just need to hold you.” Greg rested his cheek on the back of Mycroft’s shoulder. “I’ll probably be clingy at odd times for a while. I apologize in advance.”

“Never, never apologize for wanting to touch me, it’s not as if I ever would mind and I just might cling back in return.” Mycroft reached up with one hand to bury it in Greg’s silvery hair. “I love you and I am yours.”

“Mmm,” he kissed the back of Mycroft’s neck, “Works both ways amour. By the way, after we’ve rested there’s something I want to talk to you about. Nothing bad so don’t get all tense.”

“I want to talk are rarely good words, forgive me for tensing up.” Mycroft turned in Greg’s hold and looped his arms around his lover. “What is it you wish to talk about?” 

Greg opened his mouth but someone knocking on the door stopped him from saying anything further, “Dinner’s here,” he kissed Mycroft’s brow and went to open the door, taking the tray from the minion there with a murmur of thanks before closing the door and balancing the tray with one hand so he could pull Mycroft into bed with the other. He settled into bed with mycroft pressed against his side, and turned the telly on. He kissed the look of irritation off Mycroft’s face before setting into his food. “After we’ve rested and recharged a bit baby. I promise it’s nothing that should upset you, hopefully it’ll even make you giddy in happiness. I hope so anyway.”

“Giddy?” That made Mycroft’s brows draw together at the bridge of his nose. “Have you ever seen me giddy Greg? You should know that you are only making me more curious and I do not handle curiosity very well...I suppose it is a Holmes trait.” He settled at Greg’s side though and watched the telly as his lover ate. “Well that is just stupid, the army never even went that far south during that war, why can’t they just do their research properly?” He waved a hand at the telly.

“Because they like to make up things that will be more of a good fairy tale for the people watching the movie?” He popped a bite of chicken into his mouth. He ate one handed and the other kept Mycroft tucked close against his side.

Mycroft grumbled about the idiocy of people but in all honesty he was quite happy being tucked against Greg's warm body in their own bed, safe and sound. Even if the movie was helplessly inaccurate. 

It didn’t take Greg log to finish eating, he was too tired to want to draw out the meal really, and set the tray on the nightstand. He threaded his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, “Your turn baby.”

Shifting up on his elbows Mycroft pressed his lips to Greg's over and over again before running them over Greg's jaw and down his neck. He kissed that proud gorgeous neck as well, loving opened mouthed kisses as he licked the skin, feeling Greg's pulse under his tongue. A growl of both possessiveness and hunger rose from his throat and then he slid his fangs into soft skin and again it was heaven, feeling the salty tang of his lover's blood on his tongue.

It felt better this time than it had the first and Greg made a soft, almost subvocal moan. He held Mycroft closer, his head tilted back to give him complete access. The little flicks of Mycroft’s tongue and soft drawing sucks actually had him growing hard, arousal seeping through him. It wouldn’t surprise him if Mycroft could taste it in his blood.

It was wonderful, Mycroft had to pace himself, remember to take small sips and not drink too much. He was aware of Greg’s arousal but it only made his blood sweeter. He continued to feed, moving his hand beneath Greg’s robe and wrapped it around his lover’s arousal, slowly stroking it in time with his licks and sucks.

He made a low, husky groan. When that elegant, capable hand curled around his prick he lost every thought in his head but how good it felt to have Mycroft touching him and feeding on him. 

The sounds Greg was making was almost as delicious as his blood. He swiped his thumb over the leaking head of Greg’s erection, relishing in the twitch of his lover’s hips. He gave a few more sucks before licking the puncture wounds closed. Mycroft kissed Greg’s neck before moving down Greg’s body and wrapping his lips around Greg’s cock.

“Oh _God_ baby, the things you do to me.” He leaned back on his hands and watched as Mycroft’s incredibly talented mouth drew him in. “Drive me absolutely out of my mind amour.”

Mycroft shivered a little at the French endearment. He pulled off Greg’s prick long enough to give his lover a smile. “Good, that is my intention. Do you have any idea how delicious you are absolutely all over?” He licked at the erection in front of him before swallowing it back down.

A reverent French curse hissed out of his mouth. He allowed a shiver to ripple through him and lost himself in the sensation of Mycroft’s mouth working him over for a few moments. Then he reached down and tugged gently on the vampire’s hair, “Come around baby, let me taste you too.”

That got a moan out of Mycroft, though he was reluctant to pull his mouth off of Greg even for a moment but there was no way he was refusing an offer like that. He moved around and swung a long leg over Greg’s chest and scooted backwards before he went back to work.

Greg immediately worked his lover’s pajama trousers down and licked a stripe from the tip of Mycroft’s cock to the base. He licked and kissed and scraped his teeth ever so lightly on the shaft before finally taking the head into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the slit as he slid his hands up the back of Mycroft’s thighs to squeeze his bum.

The almost teasing touches made Mycroft ache and crave, he had to stop himself from thrusting downwards into Greg’s mouth. He bobbed his head and did his best to focus on giving Greg pleasure. He held himself up with one arm and brought his other hand between Greg’s legs, massaging his sack as he took his lover down his throat.

He moaned, his hands clenching just a bit on Mycroft’s arse, and took Mycroft deeper into his own mouth. He snuck the fingers of one hand between his lover’s arse cheeks and rubbed teasingly over the puckered skin of his entrance.

Mycroft twitched and shuddered, goose-bumps breaking out across his skin and he moaned around the cock in his mouth. Gods, Greg knew just how to touch him. Mycroft continued to roll his lover’s balls in his palm and picked up pace as he sucked him, his bruised throat ached a little as he hummed but to see Greg lost in pleasure it was all worth it.

Greg made an odd little squeak that he be embarrassed about later pulled back to lick up Mycroft’s cock, over his balls, taking time to mouth them, and up the crack of his bum. He licked over Mycroft’s hole, one hand slipping around to stroke his lover’s cock as he did.

Oh God, Mycroft was going to come, it felt too good and he knew he would not be able to hold out for much longer. He sucked Greg’s cock more vigorously as small whines escaped him and he bucked his hips a little, helpless movements as pleasure was spearing through him.

A rumble of a moan echoed in Greg’s chest, the whines coming from Mycroft and vibrating around his cock were going to toss him over the edge any moment now. Rather than worry about it, he gave his attention to bringing his lover off. He circled his tongue over the pucker then slipped it inside the ring of muscle. He rubbed at the tip of Mycroft’s cock as he fucked him with his tongue in time to the movements of his lover’s mouth on his cock.

He groaned as a particularly enthusiastic suck pulled his orgasm out of him and he came, spilling into Mycroft’s mouth.

Mycroft drank him down greedily, just as he had done with Greg’s blood. His lover’s touches and the way he climaxed set Mycroft off as well and he shuddered, a broken version of Greg’s name on his lips as he arched his back and came across Greg’s neck and chest.

He pulled back from rimming Mycroft to scatter kisses over the skin of his arse, his hands gently stroking what skin he could reach, over ribs and back and thighs and bum in the after glow. “Je t’aime ma cher.”

“I love you too.” Mycroft turned and snuggled up against Greg, he used his discarded pyjama trousers to wipe his semen off of Greg’s chest and then wrapped his arms around the other.

Greg’s own arms came up to curl around Mycroft, his lips brushing over his temple. “How do you feel?”

“Boneless and brilliant.” Mycroft threw one of his legs over Greg’s in an attempt to shuffle even close to his lover. “How about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he was stroking Mycroft’s side lazily but he paused to grab the coverlet and pull it over them in a warm cocoon.

Mycroft did not need much sleep but it had been an exhausting day in every way and lying here with the man he loved made his eyes droop and his body heavy. He rubbed the tip of his nose against Greg’s skin before closing his eyes and allowing himself to relax completely.

Greg smiled and held Mycroft more securely while the telly droned on in the background. He was knackered so he closed his eyes and slipped into sleep easily, secure in knowing they were home safe.

_**To be continued…** _


	18. Part Eighteen

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; Sherlock and John find out something new about their bond. Mycroft and Greg wake up to uninvited visitors._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Eighteen._ **

Sherlock managed to roll himself out of the wheelchair and into the bed but he was simply too sore and exhausted for anything else. He could change his clothes tomorrow; right now all he cared about was John and a healing sleep, in that exact order. He studied John as his mate got his medical bag, “How badly were you hurt?”

“Not badly at all, perhaps a bruised rib from the kick to the gut. I just need to clean the cuts before they get infected.” John walked over and kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “You were much worse off than I ever was.” Some of the fear John had felt and still did to a point leaked through his voice.

He reached up, cupping the back of John’s neck gently, “I’m alright now John. Thanks to you, I’m alright.” His thumb stroked over the short hairs at John’s nape, “They won’t get infected, another side benefit of being a vampire’s mate. But they will heal faster being clean.

John took Sherlock’s hand and kissed his palm before placing it back on the bed. Logically he knew that Sherlock was safe now but his heart was harder to convince. “That’s one less thing to worry about then; I’ll be right back after I’ve cleaned up a little.” He grabbed his kit and walked to the bathroom, leaving the door open as he peeled his bloodstained shirt off and got the water running in the sink.

Sherlock used strength he didn’t really have at the moment to sit up so John was in view. He frowned at the sight of a horrible bruise on John’s back. _’Doesn’t that hurt?’_

“Not really.” John replied as he began to wash the crusted blood off of his neck. “It’s a bruise but I think it’s a shallow one.” He hadn’t even noticed that Sherlock hadn’t spoken out loud.

Sherlock however definitely noticed and sat up a little higher before thinking, quite deliberately, _’John can you hear me?’_

“Of course I can, you’re speaking quite clearly, sounds like you are right in my ear.” John winced as soap and water stung the cuts and made them bleed sluggishly again.

 _’I’m not speaking John.’_ Sherlock felt a thrill of excitement. Oh this was interesting.

“What?” John turned around and stared at Sherlock through the doorway, blood and water running down his chest. _’What the bloody hell?’_

 _’Fascinating. I can hear you too.’_ His eyes were on the rivulets running down John’s chest. _’That’s going to stain your trousers.’_

John snorted, looking down at his stained and torn trousers. _’I think these trousers are a lost cause anyway.’_ He looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes again. “Is this something that happens between mates?” 

He shook his head, “No. I’ve never heard of a mated pair developing a telepathic connection.” He wondered how far this connection worked. Was it just words? Or would feelings or images transmit over it? He pursed his lips and focused on what he felt for John, the love and need, and sort of pushed it in John’s direction the way he had his thoughts.

John gasped and his eyes grew very wide as he kept them on Sherlock. He swallowed, feeling humbled and honored to his core that this amazing, fantastic man felt like that for him. John looked inside himself and found his own love, unwavering belief, loyalty and adoration he felt for Sherlock. All the things he felt that were too big or small for words and pushed them in Sherlock’s direction. 

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and trembled, his arms giving out where they’d been propping him up and his vision blurring with moisture that he refused to admit was tears as he fell back. He reached out for John, a wordless request. All that, John felt all that, for _him_. It undid him.

Oh fuck it, John was a mess but it didn’t matter, he grabbed a towel and wiped away the worst of the water and blood and then he was beside Sherlock, on the bed with him, wrapped around him. John would always be there when Sherlock needed him, besides he needed Sherlock just as much. “It’s okay love, I’m here and I love you so much.”

He couldn’t get sound past the lump in his throat but apparently he didn’t need to now. He curled into John, clinging. _’I love you John. I love you. I love you. I love you.’_ It was a repetitive refrain, all the times he’d wanted to say it and hadn’t been able to spilling out at once. He nuzzled John’s cheek and carefully licked at the cuts over his jaw until they stopped bleeding.

John held him, Sherlock’s love resonating through him. He was so emotional he didn’t think he was able to project actual words back just feelings of warmth, pride, safe and _mine_. He buried his head in the crook of Sherlock’s neck and held on.

Sherlock nosed at the short blond hair, wrapped his arms and legs around him, and rasped, “No more getting kidnapped John, not even Mycroft’s stupid meetings.” He’d lose his mind if John got kidnapped again.

“I’ll try to not get snatched.” John smiled against Sherlock’s neck. “Plus side though, if it should happen, I have a direct link to you know, so you can find me.” He kissed behind Sherlock’s ear and down his neck, just light kisses to feel his mate’s skin beneath his lips.

Sherlock eased his hold just enough so he could run his fingers over John’s back. He felt the flex and shift of muscle under the skin as his mate breathed, carefully ghosted his fingers over the bruise, traced old scars, and reassured himself that John was okay. “True. This is fascinating. The possibilities are endless.” Not to mention it would be fun to ‘talk’ just to John while around Mycroft and watch his brother try to suss out what was going on.

John giggled as that thought projected over to him. “Bloody hell, we could drive him absolutely crazy with this...I’m almost sad about Donovan’s transfer, imagine what we could have done at crime scenes.” His arms were around Sherlock but he pulled away so he could ghost kisses over Sherlock’s face. He had never been as frightened as he had been when Sherlock went down, a crippling, heart stopping fear. His laughter died out. “Jesus Sherlock...I thought I would lose you.”

He leaned into the kisses, pressing his body as close to John’s as he could, “I almost was lost. I couldn’t...I didn’t have the strength to pull back into myself but I fought to,” he’d fought to return to John, “I fought but I was losing and then you were there.” He angled his head so John’s lips brushed over his, “You were there, you brought me back,” he took John’s hand and pressed it to his chest, “and put me back together.” 

He splayed his hand over Sherlock’s heart, wanting to feel every beat of it. “I was scared I wouldn’t be able to, that I wouldn’t find you. I kept thinking and I got lost in my own head, it wasn’t until I let go and just felt that I found you.” He kissed Sherlock again. “Now I am never letting you go, no matter what.”

 _’Good. I never want you to.’_ Sherlock continued to hold John’s hand to his heart as he kissed him back, reassurance they were there and whole together. “You always find me when I need you John.”

“And I always will...It goes both ways you know.” John leaned his brow against Sherlock’s. “You saved me when I was lost, when I had given up...You saved me just by being yourself.”

“I rather think it was that we saved each other,” he closed his eyes and snuggled impossibly closer to John. He’d been self-destructing before John, slowly stepping down a path that only ended in bloodfever and death.

“I’m good with us saving each other...I’m good with _us_ full stop.” The hand not resting over Sherlock’s heart found its way into his mate’s hair, scratching lightly. “You need to feed too, maybe it will help you feel better.”

Sherlock hummed, the day’s events suddenly catching up to him completely so that it was an effort to vocalise. _’How much blood did you lose though?’_

“Barely anything, look at the wounds; they are just scratches, makes a mess but no serious bloodloss.” He nuzzled against Sherlock. _’We can sleep first if you want to, I’m here when you need me.’_

 _’Sleep first I think. We can both eat when we wake up.’_ Sherlock knew he wouldn’t manage to stay awake long enough to properly feed; he could already feel blackness creeping up on the edges of his mind.

“Okay.” John was feeling a little frayed around the edges himself and he was more than fine with sleep. He did pull off Sherlock’s shirt and trousers as well as removing his own trousers before getting them both underneath the covers. There he pulled Sherlock close again, held him tightly as he felt sleep claim him.

~oOo~

 

Greg cracked open an eye and made an irritable growl that was better suited to his lover, that was just now stirring due to the rather loud pounding on the door. He checked the time and it was only two hours since he and Mycroft had fallen asleep. Someone had better be dying and if they weren’t someone would be. He carefully slid out of bed just as Anthea’s voice came through the soundproofing, loud and distressed.

“Don’t you dare! You have no right to- GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!”

Greg had his robe belted and his gun in hand quicker than a blink and was tearing open the door and leveling the weapon at the man who was holding a struggling Anthea’s hands behind her back, the other man who’d been knocking on the bedroom door was watched out of the corner of Greg’s eye, “I’d listen to the lady if I were you, unless you want an exploding bullet in the head.”

“Shoot him if you want but you would be dead before your finger left the trigger human.” The other man sneered as he looked at Lestrade.

Mycroft was up as well, quickly donning a fresh pair of pyjama trousers and a silk robe. “What brings the council, or at least part of it to my door at this hour?” Mycroft’s tone was arctic. 

The man still holding Anthea, cut a look over at Mycroft, “We need to debrief on the situation involving Councilwoman Holmes.”

Greg grit his teeth, “I said to let her go and trust me when I tell you that I’m a lot harder to kill than you would like. I don’t give a flying _fuck_ who you are. You’re trespassing in my home, you’re assaulting one of my people, and it has been the day from hell. I _will_ shoot you, _both_ and faster than you can stop me.”

The councilman holding Anthea let her go and stepped away, hands held out peacefully. “I understand you’re irritated Lieutenant, I would be too, however it is our job to make certain that Councilwoman Holmes’ actions do not cast a negative light on the council.”

He lowered the gun and stepped to Mycroft’s side with a snort. He’d let his lover handle these idiots.

Mycroft’s nose twitched with irritation, other than that he wore his mask perfectly. “I will give my debriefing when I see fit to do so. You may be council but I am still Master of Britain, also after today’s accounts I am Lord Holmes and I would tread very, very carefully if I were you.” He took as few steps closer to them. “We don’t want to drag up that ugly business of how one of you bought your way onto to council and the other slept his way there. Not to mention that you barge into my home uninvited, threatens my assistant and my lover. I think that reflects rather poorly on the council and I am not at all afraid to voice my opinion. Now leave, I will call on the council in my own time.”

“Mycroft,” the councilman who was trying to be placating spoke smoothly, “please. You understand the need for swift action in keeping the public’s confidence after a disaster. We only-”

“He said leave. If Lord Holmes’ own pull is not enough to get you out, I will remind you that I am Anthousa Apollonis, granddaughter of the High Oracle of Delphi, daughter of the Head Priestess of the Parthenon, sister to the seven Lesser Oracles and the three Stygian Nymphs, and you,” she looked the councilman up and down with disgust, “Just dared attempt to manhandle me.”

Greg had to hide his smirk as the vampires turned a whiter shade of pale.

“Mr. DuLac and Mr. Debinworth, I suggest you leave while the tone here is still polite.” Mycroft’s temper was starting to rise, these vampires were nothing, young and brash and should not have a place on the council. “Believe me, I will speak to the Head of the Council and tell her all about this meeting, not a detail will be left out so do not worry. Now leave _my home_ before you are escorted out.”

The vampire who had threatened Lestrade sighed and gave his partner a look. He was all about furthering his career by getting a statement early but he had not signed on for a suicide mission. The higher ups could handle this for all he cared.

The other councilman’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like leaving empty handed but he knew when he was beaten. No one in their right mind would ever continue challenging both Mycroft Holmes and such a high ranked daughter of the Apolline temples. “Very well. Please come in soon Mycro-” he looked over at the growl and found the human glaring at him.

“Did Lord Holmes give you permission to use his given name?” Greg leveled a narrow look on the pompous arse trying to wiggle out somewhat on top, “Just get out, before I decide you’re not worth a shallow grave more than you are an escort.”

Anthea did smirk as the two councilmen cut line and left then. “And about time.”

Mycroft was silently fuming. First his mother and now these two, it was time for a major clean up in the council lines in his opinion. He knew all about the importance of reports and debriefings but to walk into a higher ranking vampire’s home, a house in mourning no less, though that could be discussed, it was unheard of and Mycroft would make sure it would not go unpunished. 

“Thank you Anthea for your support.” He gave her a nod and walked over to Greg. “Come on my brave guardian, back to bed for you.”

Greg carefully put the safety back on the gun, gave Anthea a casual salute, then slipped back into their quarters with Mycroft. He locked his gun up and rolled his shoulders, “Fucking politicos. Do they trade in brain cells for power?”

Mycroft raised and eyebrow and looked at his lover in amusement. “I don’t know, I’ve been a politician all my life so you will have to tell me, I might not have many brain cells left.”

“You’re not a politician Mycroft. You’re a king, there’s a difference.” He pulled the robe off and tossed it onto the coat rack, not the least bit concerned about being completely naked.

“A king is a politician, just a very skilled one.” Mycroft appreciated the view very much. “Don’t give me qualities I don’t have Greg, it only leads to disappointment. I’m not working for the good of the people or any trite like that. I am a selfish man at heart.”

“Mmmhmm,” that was all the acknowledgement Greg was going to give that statement. He saw the best of Mycroft, the worst too but the worst he saw wasn’t what his lover considered bad about himself, and wasn’t about to change his opinion that he was in love with an amazing man.

“Go back to bed Greg, you need more sleep.” Mycroft’s voice was soft though his mind was already working on how to properly show his displeasure with the council. 

He studied Mycroft closely before giving another hum and stepping up close to him, brushing his lips over his lover’s, “Alright baby. Hit them where it hurts and come back to bed when you’re done scheming.”

“I’m never done scheming Greg, that’s the beauty of schemes.” Mycroft grinned but pulled Greg close for a proper kiss. “I will be back to bed though, as long as you are in it nothing could keep me away for long.” 

He nipped Mycroft’s bottom lip, deepened the kiss briefly, then pulled back. “Beautiful schemer. We’ll have that talk when you come back to bed then.” He knew it had to be driving Mycroft insane and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Yes, we will.” When it came to Greg, Mycroft was not a patient man. “Sleep well Greg, I’ll join you shortly.” Mycroft reached for his phone and walked to his office to call the Head of the Council, his mind was on Greg and the mysterious conversation though.

Greg did settle back down into the bed, curling up around Mycroft’s pillow, nose buried in it, and dozed lightly, just enough to actually rest while also remaining alert enough to wake as soon as Mycroft returned.

About an hour and a half later Mycroft made his way back to his private rooms and the bedroom in particular. He wasn’t all happy but at least he had made his point clear to the council. Mycroft Holmes did not live under anyone’s thumb, not even the council and it was time for them to learn that. He pulled the robe off and hung it carefully before sliding into bed next to his lover.

Greg immediately wrapped himself around Mycroft instead of the pillow and rolled so that he was laying on his back, Mycroft sprawled atop him. “How did the evisceration go?”

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg in return and rested his head on his lover’s chest. “As well as expected, we are all a bunch of slippery buggers trying to push the blame onto someone else but the council knows my feelings on the subject now.” He hummed and turned his head so he could press a kiss the the center of Greg’s chest. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I was sleeping. I can be a very light sleeper when I choose to be,” he ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair.

“Then I am sorry I woke you up.” Mycroft didn’t sound very sorry though, in fact he was nearly purring from being this close to Greg, having the man he loved touching him. 

“You waking me up was the whole point of sleeping lightly,” he smiled and nosed Mycroft’s temple. “Besides my sleep is shite without you there anyway.”

Mycroft scratched his fingers up and down Greg’s side, just firm enough not to tickle. “Good thing you’ve moved in then and that you’re not bothered by me watching you sleep.”

“Very good thing.” He made a pleased murmur at the scratching touch, “It might be a little Twilight creepy to enjoy knowing that you’re watching me sleep but I have to admit I do.”

“Eugh, sparkling vampires...If I had sparkled I would not have had the will to live out my first century.” Mycroft made a disgusted face. “Even more scary, imagine a sparkling Sherlock.”

Greg lost it and began hooting in laughter, “Actually I can see that,” in between chuckles and giggles and hoots he grinned at his lover, “I may have to throw glitter on him at some point.”

“Remind me to be terribly busy and _not_ there when you do that. I will enjoy that show via CCTV.” Mycroft’s shoulders shook with laughter. He loved this, sweet simple moments where he could just say what he wanted, talk without having to watch his tongue and know that Greg would never judge him for it.

“Just so long as there’s a car there for me to immediately dive into so I can run away, sure. Hmm, I might even be able to get the gremlin at HQ to make me something I can toss that’ll have the glitter sticking to Sherlock for an appreciable amount of time. I’m sure she’d be happy to help me prank my brother-in-law.” 

Mycroft let out something that was very much not a giggle, he would deny the giggle to the end of time. “Please do it, now I can not get the image out of my head. We just have to watch out for John, when it comes to Sherlock he’s like some ferocious little badger or something. Really quite adorable when it’s not terribly annoying.”

Greg was surprised that Mycroft had either missed or discounted the ‘in-law’ part of his comment, “One sparkly Sherlock coming soon to a street near you, while John is picking things up from the Tesco so I can avoid our favorite Hufflepuff.”

“I adore you Gregory Lestrade, absolutely and completely adore you.” Mycroft pressed more kisses to Greg’s chest. “First Twilight and then Harry Potter, should I be concerned that your taste in literature is that of a fourteen year old girl?”

“I’ll have you know that I have a varied and extensive repertoire of favorite books Mycroft Holmes. It’s just more fun to reference the most recent ones. And I am not a Twi-hard thank you very much. It’s just so prevalent that I can’t avoid it.”

Mycroft continued to not-giggle. “I’m teasing Gregory; I am hardly in a position to speak since I understood both the Twilight and the Potter hints...Though Twi-hard, that was something new, haven’t heard that before.” He rubbed his foot along Greg’s calf.

“I blame Donovan. She was obsessed with the series, which is funny considering she’d probably piss herself if faced with a real vampire or werewolf.”

“We~ell...” Mycroft drew the word out. “The London pack do owe me a favor, I am sure we could set up a visit. No one would believe her anyway.”

Greg chuckled and lifted one of Mycroft’s hands to his mouth to kiss the wrist, “No, don’t call in a favor for that. From what I hear she’s already miserable and desperately seeking a transfer to Cardiff.”

“I do not wish her on Cardiff, poor town. And I can not say I mind her being miserable. She did not know what my brother was when she drove him to jump. I don’t forgive easily. The fact that she has been horrible to you for years does not help her case any.” Mycroft let out a sigh. “Tomorrow...Or later today to be precise I must begin my work to bring Sherlock back to the land of the living. Proof of his innocence and the fact that he is not a fraud will of course be presented to the media and your former place of employment.”

“How difficult would it be to get those reactions recorded? For posterity you know,” not to mention something to shove in the face of anyone else who might try and call Sherlock’s abilities into question.

“You are talking as if I don’t already have cameras placed both at the Yard and at all the major newspapers and television companies.” Mycroft looked nearly shocked. “If you wish it you can have a file on your computer seconds after it has happened. The age of technology is glorious.”

“Yes, absolutely, especially the Superintendent’s reaction. It’s worth any sort of kinky action you want.”

“Oh be careful there lover mine. You have no idea just how kinky I can be.” Mycroft rose so he could meet Greg’s eyes. “Lucky for you, you are the one person I would never demand anything in return from. You want the Superintendent’s reaction then you’ll have it.”

He cupped Mycroft’s face in his hands, expression serious, the play of before fading, “I do want to see the bastard forced to eat his words, just for all the grief it caused Sherlock and John and you. Even knowing it wouldn’t kill him; Sherlock jumping off the roof hurt you.” He pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s lips, “Which is reason enough for me to want to turn the Superintendent into a whimpering puddle of fear.”

“You are wonderful my gorgeous Greg.” Mycroft didn’t really know what to say, the reason it had hurt to watch Sherlock jump was because Mycroft’d had such a large part in putting him up there in the first place. He had played a game and lost. 

“I don’t know about wonderful or gorgeous but I am absolutely all yours. All of me, forever.”

Mycroft watched him carefully, processing what Greg had just said. “I’m yours too, for the first time in my life I want to belong to someone.”

“That talk I mentioned?” Greg stroked Mycroft’s cheek, “It’s about mating. Us. You know, becoming mates. I want it, if you do too, I want to be your mate.”

“ _If I want it_...You must know there is nothing I want more.” Mycroft’s eyes were wide and strangely vulnerable. “You’re my chosen one, it could never be anyone but you. I just want you to be sure, absolutely sure because there are no do overs, no divorces.”

“I’m sure. I’ve been asking around, well asking mostly Hettie and Thomas with one minion, a Michelle Barrowman, thrown in, about matings and everything they were willing to share about them, gathering intel. I’m not walking into this blind,” he brushed his lips over Mycroft’s, “I want to be your mate Mycroft.”

“I want that too, I do. As I said, I am a selfish, selfish man and as long as you are sure I’m more than willing to grab you and hold on to you for eternity. I love you, need you. I’m already yours.” Mycroft brushed kisses all over Greg’s face to hide the dampness in his eyes. He was well aware that Greg was too good of a man to be stuck with him but he couldn’t let him go.

Greg held Mycroft’s head still and gave him a deep, lingering kiss, “I’m very sure because I’m just as much yours as you are mine. I want to be your mate and I want you to change me so I can’t be taken from you by a simple stray bullet or something equally stupid.”

Mycroft stiffened and a growl left him at the mere thought of losing Greg at all. No, that could never happen, no, no, no, it was simply unacceptable. “Yes, yes Greg.” He didn’t even want to argue with what Greg asked of him. “I want that too.”

“Then you and I are going to fill out the paperwork as soon as possible,” his arms wrapped around Mycroft, knowing the mention of losing him would be a bit upsetting.

“Yes.” Mycroft placed his head back down on Greg’s chest, as he slipped his own arms around Greg’s waist, burrowing his hands beneath his lover. He had lived an eternity already but the thought of existing even one day without Greg was unbearable.

Greg relaxed, his worry about Mycroft saying no fading, and pulled the coverlet over them both again so they were snuggled together and a safe cocoon. And if he had anything to say about it, that was how they would remain until a solid two hours after dawn.

_**To be continued…** _


	19. Part Nineteen

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; Sherlock and John have too much fun with their newfound telepathic bond. Mycroft fears his brother is broken._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Nineteen._ **

A full night’s sleep, a morning feeding followed by an excellent morning shag had Sherlock back to himself. No more aches or pains and he was setting up the final bars of his composition while making sure John ate. He was careful to keep the music in his head and not let it leak over into John’s. He wanted to whole of the composition to be played together and as a surprise for his mate.

John turned the page of the morning paper and took another bite out of his breakfast muffin. He was extremely happy and relieved to see his mate back to normal. “Huh look at that, an industrial fire in Avebury. Your brother and Anthea really take clean up seriously don’t they.” It was more of a statement than a question. John was glad that Moriarty was gone, no more twisted games coming from that direction. God help him he was glad that Violet Holmes was dead as well, if Greg hadn’t killed her he would have done it himself without even a sliver of regret. 

He looked up from the paper and let his eyes settle on Sherlock. “Do you know what you want to do now? Do you wish to be the consulting detective again, work with the Met?” Whatever Sherlock chose to do, John would be right there with him, at his side where he belonged.

“Of course,” he’d lose his mind with nothing to do all day, that or make John lose his with the experiments he wound up performing. “Gregson is vaguely decent and Dimmock is growing up to snuff. Once Mycroft arranges for my return to the living I don’t see why not to continue as I’ve gone on until people start looking askance on how well I age and even then there are spell amulets for constant glamour’s.”

“Good, I want you to be happy.” John smiled at his mate. Sherlock shone when he was solving mysteries and John was happy he would be allowed to be there, at Sherlock’s side and witness him doing it. “Speaking of ageing well, is it the enzyme’s work?” John had noticed small things, the bags under his eyes were gone, as well as a few of the lines on his face, everything was just a little bit tighter, a little bit more toned than before. It wasn’t like John minded, of course not, he was just curious.

“Yes. It’ll continue until you revert to your ‘prime’ genetically. Does that bother you?” He gave John a slight head tilt in question.

“No it doesn’t bother me; I’m still me and always will be.” John wasn’t a vain man but deep inside he was happy to be at his best with Sherlock, he wanted to be his best for his beautiful, brilliant mate. 

Sherlock smiled, “Good. I-” he looked over at the door when a knock sounded then lifted a brow at John. _’Did you call for anything else?’_

John shook his head. _’Only breakfast.’_ He rose from the chair he was sitting in and walked over to the door. “Who is it?” 

“Anthea,” the dryad’s voice came clearly through the wood of the door, “I’m sorry to disturb you this early John.”

John opened the door to let Anthea in. “It’s okay, we were up. What can we do for you Anthea?” Mycroft’s assistant wouldn’t have come this early in the morning if there wasn’t something that needed to be done.

She stepped in and handed John a file folder, “Unfortunately last night a pair of councilmen tried to bully their way into an early debriefing. Tried being the operative word, but, as a debriefing is necessary, you and Sherlock need to fill out incident reports as soon as possible.”

“Ugh reports,” Sherlock tuned his violin before narrowing his eyes at Anthea, “Someone tried to pull you away, that or you’ve taken up grappling.”

“Jesus, someone put their hands on you and walked out of here breathing?” John looked at Anthea with wide eyes. He was glad the councilmen hadn’t come knocking on their door, Sherlock had definitely needed his rest and John would not have been welcoming to anyone trying to disturb it. He looked at the folders in his hand before tossing them on the table, he had no love for reports but they weren’t much different from filling out a patient chart after a consultation so he could get through one without much difficulty. 

“Greg pointed a gun at him,” Anthea’s eyes took on a gleam of vengeance, “And the vampire council will be getting a call from my family sometime today I would imagine.”

Sherlock smirked, “Never touch a Delphinian nymph without her permission and expect to get away with it.”

“Even I knew that.” John was baffled by the stupidity the vampire must have displayed to touch Anthea to begin with. “I’m starting to realize that the Hunters aren’t the only ones with nothing but air between their ears.” 

“Clearly not as the second councilman threatened Greg within Lord Holmes’ earshot and Lieutenant Lestrade does rather smell quite strongly of Lord Holmes.”

Sherlock snorted, “Strongly? He positively reeks of Mycroft, the Head Councilwoman would do well to arrange their immediate expulsion before the two who attempted to force a debrief take her down with them.”

“If she has any sense, then your Head Councilwoman should already be in the process of doing so.” John walked back to the table and his cup of tea, wanting to enjoy it before it turned completely cold. “Complaints from both Mycroft and Anthea’s family in the same day, if she doesn’t take action the councilwoman is well and truly buggered.” 

“Exactly. I’ll be by later to pick up the paperwork. In addition, Lord Holmes is in the process of arranging your return to the public eye so I would imagine that you should be back in Baker Street in roughly a week.” Anthea moved to leave.

“Not nearly fast enough in my opinion.”

 _’Home’_. Gods John couldn’t wait, he would miss Hettie’s cooking but privacy and the use of his own kitchen, even cluttered with experiments would make up for the food a thousand times over. “We should get over there though; Mrs. Hudson deserves to learn the truth from you and not from the media.”

Sherlock made a flicker of a grimace and looked down at his violin. Mrs. Hudson was bound to be angry with him, though John was right. She deserved more than to find out he was alive from a news story.

“She’ll scold the both of us, hug you and cry and then she’ll make us tea. All while reminding us that she’s not our housekeeper.” John downed the remains of his cup and got up to give his mate a small kiss. “If all else fails we’ll just let it slip we’re together now, she’s been waiting for that for a long time, of course we will have to outdo Mrs. Turner’s married ones.”

“Outdo them?” He gave John a curious look, “How does one out do a marital status?”

“I don’t know.” John grinned wickedly. “I guess we’ll just have to experiment.” 

It was the grin that made the light-bulb go off, “ _Oh_ ,” and Sherlock’s lips curved in an equally wicked smile, “Yes I suppose we will.” He went back to playing with the tuning of his instrument but sent John a thought as well as an attempt at sending an image. _’How do you feel about silk?_ The image was of himself, tied on his hands and knees to the bed with red silk ropes.

“Christ! What you do to me.” John’s breath quickened and he licked his lips. Oh he liked silk, he liked silk very, very much, especially when it was applied like that. He didn’t think he needed to send anything to Sherlock for his mate to deduce just how much he liked that image. 

He was correct about that. No further reply was needed for Sherlock to figure that out. “I actually have some. They were part of a materials experiment a few years ago.”

John chuckled. “Of course you do...Well I can’t wait to try them out when we are home again.” He kissed Sherlock again and tried to put a lid on his arousal, as much as he always wanted Sherlock, this was not the time. 

Sherlock nuzzled at John’s jawline before turning to his composition, checking to make certain it held everything of the time since John had clocked him in the graveyard. He settled his violin into place and began to play. The first half held all the self-loathing, guilt, loneliness, and fear he’d felt. John had heard this part before, he’d come to hold Sherlock after the worst of it after all, but now there was more, a lightening of the music in the next stanza, hope lifting the darkness of the piece. Joyful notes came in, fear still living beside them but eased, heat and tenderness and passion all played together before a calm settling of music with the slightest edge of tension underneath. Trembling fearful and worried notes suddenly rose and devolved into a violent flurry of blindingly fast playing, chaos that was interrupted by a painful screech. He played through the music that had been born in his head while struggling to retain his spirit, the fear of being forced to leave, the love for John and then the relief and easing of pain as John had found him, brought him back, and healed him.

John was not ashamed of his tears, what he felt as he heard Sherlock play, gods it couldn’t be put into words. He could hear their relationship in Sherlock’s notes and it made him weak in the knees. It was still unbelievable to him that someone like Sherlock, someone that amazing felt so strongly for him...He was just John, nothing extraordinary about him. He had truly been given the greatest gift in the universe and he would care for it with his entire being for eternity. John showed Sherlock all of this, left himself wide open and gave Sherlock everything he had and everything he was. _’Thank you.’_

Sherlock finished the composition with a final, hopeful, happy bars before shaking his head as the music faded and he set his violin down, opening himself to John in return. _’No. Thank you John.’_ He’d been lost and terrified and broken in so many ways until John had found him. He moved over to John, fitting himself against him in an embrace. John had been healing him since they’d met until he’d been able to let his healing hunter in, to show him how much he loved him.

John held on to his slender mate, loving the way they fit together in every way. Without Sherlock, he was nothing but together, when they were together it felt like he could do anything. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” he rubbed his cheek against John’s hair, feeling peaceful. “Do we _really_ have to do the paperwork?”

“Afraid so.” John ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s back, not wanting to step away just yet. “We can do as with the case reports though, I write up both and you sign yours.”

“That works for me.” He kept his arms around John and stepped backwards toward the couch to pull them both down onto it. That way they didn’t have to separate and John would be able to fill out the report forms.

John nuzzled his nose against Sherlock’s neck before reaching for the folders and a pen. He balanced the folder on his lap and filled out the report as quickly and neatly as he could. He found that it was easier to think about what had happened as another case instead of the fact that it had happened to them.

Sherlock watched as John willed out his forms, taking note of what had happened while they’d been separated. He rested his chin on John’s shoulder, his fingers sneaking under his mate’s shirt to touch skin. It was completely innocent, just a bit of reassurance. He had a feeling he’d be needing such a thing more often than was likely convenient for John’s career for a while.

John hummed happily, not minding Sherlock’s touches at all. How could he ever mind the love of his life wanting to touch him? He continued filling out the forms, happy that they were allowed to turn in their debriefings in writing instead of verbally. Once he was done he made Sherlock read through both of them again before handing the pen over so Sherlock could sign his.

Sherlock signed with his messy scrawl and handed John the pen back. “Perhaps we should save Anthousa a trip and bring these to Mycroft ourselves.” And drive his brother demented with their coordinated silence.

“Mmm, perhaps we should.” Amusement practically radiated from John as he gathered the forms and placed them into the folders neatly. He stood up from the couch and held his hand out for Sherlock. John had to admit that he looked forward to teasing Mycroft as well.

He took John’s hand with one of his mischievous smiles and pulled him out of the suite, heading for Mycroft’s office. One short perfunctory knock and he was opening the door, to see Greg curled up in a chair next to Mycroft’s desk, reading. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the two. _’Something’s different here. Not physically but...’_

John looked between the two men in the office, ignoring Mycroft’s questioning look. _’I thing Greg’s finally talked to Mycroft about wanting to complete the mate bond and about wanting to change’_.

“As much as I am delighted at the sight of you, can I help you two with something or are you just planning on standing there?” Mycroft’s tone was dry as dirt.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled John the rest of the way into the office, “Yes, hello to you too Mycroft. How’s the neck?” He slid onto the sofa along the wall and tugged John down with him. _’How long has Lestrade been planning on talking to my brother about this?’_

 _’I’m not sure, for quite a while I believe. He told me about it during the recon mission.’_ John pulled Sherlock close and wrapped his arm around him. It seemed Sherlock wasn’t the only one with a need to touch.

Mycroft looked at them with narrowed eyes, something was going on. “My neck is fine thank you for your concern. I am glad you are looking better little brother.”

He chose to lean into John, “Astonishing what a morning with my mate can do.” He flicked a glance over at Greg, “And I can see you’ll be enjoying such benefits soon yourself as Lestrade finally spoke to you.”

Greg gave him a look, “John told you then.”

“Oh he didn’t say a word.” Sherlock gave Lestrade a smile. _’Technically anyway.’_

John giggled, he couldn’t help himself. “I swear Greg, not a word.” 

“What is up with you? You are looking much too smug for someone forced to write out a report?” Mycroft looked his brother over again, trying to see what was different.

 _’Soon he’ll come over and sniff you; I can already see his nose twitching.’_ John was probably having more fun than he should with this.

 _’Ugh hopefully not. Or if he tries you could clock him.’_ Sherlock crossed his legs and gave Mycroft a pleasant smile, “Why brother, I don’t know what you mean. I don’t have to debrief in person, is that not reason enough to look smug.” Oh he was enjoying this, especially now that he was getting a narrow, assessing look from Lestrade as well.

“No that would just leave you smug; this is your unbearable, gloating smugness.” Mycroft watched John’s shoulders shake with silent chuckles. “Also, you’re smiling; no something is most definitely up.”

 _’If I clock him, I’ll have Greg on my arse, not something I want to experience.’_ John did his best to tone down his mirth.

“Mycroft I am absolutely stunned by your lack of belief in me,” he managed to force a vaguely believable hurt look. _’I’ll keep Lestrade away from you. The only one allowed on your arse is me.’_

_’Oh god no, why did you put that image in my head? I only want you on my arse, ever.’ _John both shuddered and snorted.__

__“I believe in you but I also know you Sherlock and you are never this giddy this early unless you’re dealing with a gruesome murder.” Mycroft was getting annoyed that he couldn’t figure out what was up._ _

__Greg pinned Sherlock with a look, “Stop annoying my lover slash future mate Sherlock.”_ _

__“Ooooooor?” Sherlock positively grinned at Lestrade. _’Sorry? Should I make restitution?’__ _

__“Do you really want me on your arse about this Sherlock? Because I c-what in the hell?” He stared as the two idiot burst out laughing._ _

__John was laughing helplessly now. “Sorry Greg but I declare Sherlock’s arse off limits to you or anyone else.”_ _

__“John, have you ingested something strange this morning?” Mycroft was starting to look concerned, especially as John only laughed harder at that._ _

___’Only if one considers semen strange.’_ Was Sherlock’s dry mental comment and all things considered he doubted that counted. “Likely not if one is to go by your standards.”_ _

__It took Greg perhaps half a second and then he was throwing a book at Sherlock, “Watch your mouth brat.”_ _

__John was doubled over on the couch by now, laughing until his stomach ached._ _

__“Sherlock! No need go that low.” Mycroft was not used to bedroom jokes from his brother._ _

__Sherlock began snickering, resting his forehead on John’s shoulder. _’That’s a joke in and of itself.’_ He opened his mouth. _ _

__“Eh!” Greg’s tone held clear warning, “Don’t you dare or I’ll get Hettie to paddle you.”_ _

__“I’d rather any paddling be done by my mate thank you Lestrade.” He giggled at the look on Mycroft’s face._ _

__“Giggling and dirty jokes, Dr. Watson, you have broken my brother.” Mycroft was both irritated and concerned. “I am not amused, not even slightly.”_ _

___’Did I break you? You were the one to tell me to go harder.’_ John leaned his head against Sherlock’s shoulder._ _

__Sherlock hooted, actually hooted with laughter. _’Broke me apart and put me back together in the best way and I expect you to do so again very soon.’__ _

__Greg exchanged a look with Mycroft, “Er...perhaps this is a side effect from having his soul put back together? Retroactive happiness all sort of rolled together and coming out at once?”_ _

___’Coming out, that’s one way of putting it.’_ _ _

___’Well something came out but your strange super semen doesn’t count.’_ _ _

__“That doesn’t explain Dr. Watson’s giddiness I’m afraid.” Mycroft took comfort that his lover seemed to still be normal at least._ _

__“Well whenever Sherlock laughs John seems to follow suit. It’s some strange chain reaction from what I’ve noticed.” Greg eyed the two disapprovingly. “Is there an actual reason the two of you are here disturbing us, in all ways possible, or should I get the tranq darts?”_ _

__Sherlock frisbeed the files with the reports toward his brother and nuzzled John’s cheek. _’You like it. But I do need to return the favor sometime soon. How does that hunter stamina translate to your refractory period?’_ He made a soft growl of a sort he’d obviously heard on the telly, mimicking a tiger’s._ _

___’You’re joking right? I’ve been hard since that image of you and the silk ropes.’_ He let out a little eep and bounced off the couch. “See you later, seems I have a tiger out to get me.” John ran from the office, Mycroft’s gobsmacked and disgusted face making him giggle._ _

__Sherlock made another growl and pounced after him, leaving his highly disturbed brother and Lestrade behind in the office._ _

__Greg looked over at his lover, “Really, should I go and get the tranq darts? Because that-” he gestured at the sofa and the door._ _

__“That never happened. I’m taking a page out of Sherlock’s book and deleting the whole, disturbing and quite frankly frightening scenario. It _never_ happened.” Mycroft swallowed and looked down at his desktop. That was just much too disturbing for words. _ _

__“Lucky you. That’s going to stay with me for a very long time I’m sorry to say.” He wrinkled his nose._ _

__“I need to hurry up with the proceedings to bring Sherlock back to the land of the living. I think it is very much time for them to return to Baker Street.” Mycroft did not want to deal with John and Sherlock if they were going to stay scarily giddy._ _

__“Please yes, the sooner the bloody better for our sanity. They did that on purpose, I’m bloody sure of it, just to get a rise out of you.”_ _

__“I can tell you with uttermost certainty that nothing of mine rose at that spectacle.” Mycroft turned even paler than usual. “And yes, they did it on purpose but there’s more to it than that, I still believe that something has happened between them, something is different.”_ _

__“You telling me they didn’t manage to raise your ire? Because you look irritated to me.” Greg got up and went to rub out the tension that had descended on his lover’s shoulders, “Feel it too. They did literally touch souls, maybe that did something?”_ _

__Mycroft let his chin drop down toward his chest as Greg rubbed his shoulders. His lover had magical fingers and he could feel himself relaxing. “You are most likely right, they are closer than soulbonded now. Who knows that changed...And as long as Sherlock can annoy me with it we won’t be told either.”_ _

__“So let’s not let him annoy us with it then,” he leaned down to kiss Mycroft’s nape, “Or we could do some annoying right back. Take the time he’s still here to put extra surveillance in the flat, since he hates that, and whatever else drives him bonkers.”_ _

__“Normally I would jump on that idea since any day I manage to irritate Sherlock is a good day but...” Mycroft looked down at the paperwork on the desk. “I’m hoping that I will be much too busy with my mate to engage in some sort of warfare with my brother.”_ _

__“I can definitely get behind that.” He looped his arms around Mycroft’s shoulders, “Matter of fact I can ensure it.”_ _

__Mycroft leaned back against Greg. “Good. I shall just focus on getting Sherlock back to Baker Street as quickly as possible then, which is probably what he wanted all along.”_ _

__“Sounds like a plan.”_ _

___**To be continued…** _ _ _


	20. Part Twenty

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; Sherlock and John finally get to go home, Mrs. Hudson is awesome. Mycroft and Greg take things to the next level._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty._ **

Sherlock was gnawing on his lip as he slipped into 221 behind John. What was the proper way to do this? He had firsthand knowledge of how...hurtful it could be to just show up without warning when someone thought you were dead. He’d really rather avoid giving Mrs. Hudson a heart attack or making her go into shock.

“John, is that you?” Mrs. Hudson called out and came out of her rooms and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the tall man behind John. “Sherlock...I wondered when you would show up on my doorstep again.” The tiny woman crossed her arms over her chest.

He blinked, surprised, “What?”

“Oh don’t give me that look. I know you Sherlock Holmes and I know you are not a fake and you would never jump off a building without an ace up your sleeve.” She walked over until she was standing right in front of him. “I am still very much upset with you though. Put me through that again and I will bin that horrible skull for good.” With that she wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s middle in a tight hug.

He swallowed thickly and returned the hug, bending over her and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He was impossibly humbled by her simple acceptance and belief in him. “Thank you.”

“None of that now, no thanks necessary when it comes to family.” She reached up and pat his cheek. “If you want to thank me you can stop putting holes in my walls or leaving eyeballs to rot in the pantry.” Mrs. Hudson took a step backwards and blinked away a few tears of her own. “You’re my boys; I will never stop believing in you. Now...Who’s up for a cuppa?”

He exchanged a grin with John, “I believe I’d like that Mrs. Hudson. Any biscuits for the having?”

Mrs. Hudson gave him a look. “What’s tea without biscuits?” She waved them along into her rooms and put the kettle on. 

_’I was wrong about the crying but I got the tea part right.’_ John smiled as they followed their landlady. Mrs. Hudson would never stop to amaze him.

 _’No mention about not being our housekeeper yet though.’_ He slipped his hand into John’s. He wondered what would happen if he ever introduced Hettie to Mrs. Hudson. Either a world war or sisterly bonding likely.

Mrs. Hudson turned around and caught sight of their joined hands. “Oh.” Everything about her softened as she looked them over. “About time I say, I thought I would have to knock your heads together to make you see sense.”

“Well how could I say no after John hunted me down?” He wasn’t about to mention the broken nose since Mrs. Hudson would probably scold John about it.

“I had to hunt you down, you idiot.” John’s voice was warm with fondness despite his words.

“You are both idiots but I am quite pleased that you are home.” The kettle whistled on the stove. “Now sit down while I let the tea steep.” He pulled out a platter and piled it high with the biscuits she knew Sherlock liked.

 _’And God knows it’s good to be home for good.’_ He fiddled and played with John’s fingers, enjoying the vaguely exasperated look he got from his mate for it.

 _’Agreed, never thought I would miss this place so much.’_ John’s posture was relaxed and content, happy to be home.

Mrs. Hudson placed teacups, sugar, cream and the kettle on the table and sat down for tea with her boys.

Sherlock settled in happily, “No one makes tea like you Mrs. Hudson.” Which was true. John’s tea was as good as hers only different due to blend and method but just as good, the same with Hettie’s tea. 

John smiled at the way Mrs. Hudson lit up at those words and how she pushed the plate of biscuits closer to Sherlock. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere young man.” It was clear that she was pleased though. “Just don’t leave again, the house is much too big and empty without the two of you causing havoc upstairs.”

“I have no intention of leaving Baker Street for the foreseeable future.” Well truthfully he and John would have to leave one day but that would be long after Mrs. Hudson had passed away. 

“I’m afraid you are well and truly stuck with us Mrs. Hudson, experiments, clients and all.” John nabbed another biscuit, dipping it in his tea before bringing it to his mouth.

“Good, that’s very, very good.” Mrs. Hudson beamed at them and moved to kiss both their cheeks.

Sherlock let her then tilted his head, “New beau? That’s not Chatterjee’s cologne.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly. “No hiding anything from you is there? No beau, not yet in any case but Mr. Larkwood down the street is a very nice man.”

Sherlock made a personal note to look into Mr. Larkwood down the street. “Of course there’s no hiding anything from me. Especially not when it involves people who are mine.” He paused. Oh he’d said that last bit aloud hadn’t he?

John chuckled into his tea at Sherlock’s expression. His mate was adorable when flustered and it made John love him even more if that was possible.

“Such a sweet boy.” Mrs. Hudson petted Sherlock’s hand. “Of course we belong to each other, you are my boys, we are family.”

He couldn’t help but smile brightly at the acceptance and relaxed, finally feeling completely at home.

 

~oOo~

 

Greg locked his gun up, stretched, and set about stripping his uniform off. It had been two weeks since sending off the registration for changing him to the council and truth be told he was feeling a bit impatient for it. He wanted to be all Mycroft’s already. How long did it bloody take for paperwork to be received and acknowledgement of the receipt to be given damn it?

"Bad day?" Mycroft stepped into the bedroom, his eyes as always drawn to his lover's form. Anthea was full of amusement that Mycroft couldn't wait to finish up work and leave the office as soon as Greg returned home from any of his shifts. He was still a workaholic, it was just that he had something more important to live for now.

He tossed the uniform into the hamper and shook his head, “No. Usual day, chased after a couple of snorgs, filled out the reports, then investigated a smuggling ring.” He lifted his shoulders, “Very simple day really. You?” He scanned Mycroft head to toe and back again, liking the relaxed cast to his posture. Not a bad day then.

"Same, simple and usual. Things are returning to normal again." Mycroft was pleased for that, just as he was pleased for Greg, simple day or not, it clearly showed that Greg was enjoying his work much more now than he had at the Met. Mycroft walked over and ran his hands over the smooth lines of Greg's shoulders before leaning down to kiss one of them. "Welcome home Gregory."

“Mmmm, it’s good to _be_ home, especially now that the two idiots are gone,” he turned around so he could cup the back of Mycroft’s neck to bring him in for a long, slow kiss.

Mycroft licked his lips once the kiss ended, savoring the the taste of his lover. “Gods yes, I am very pleased that the two of them are back at their own place where they belong.” He ran his thumb over Greg’s bottom lip before leaning in for another kiss.

Greg nibbled leisurely on Mycroft’s lips, flicked his tongue over them, then slipped it into his mouth, tangling with his lover’s and dancing over the surfaces inside Mycroft’s mouth. “Mm, you dipped into the chocolate today.”

“A necessity, very boring teleconference meeting. It was either chocolate or flying into a murderous rage at the stupidity of some individuals I have to deal with.” Mycroft’s lips quirked up in the corners in amusement. “Managed not to eat the whole thing this time though.”

He chuckled and nuzzled the tip of his nose against Mycroft’s, “Yeah? Can you tell me what the conference was about or is it one of your tops secret things?”

“No secrets, only budgets and perhaps a little mild persuasion to get the right outcome. I swear it is like herding sheep at times.” Mycroft stepped away so that he could remove his suit jacket and loosen his tie.

“Just sheep? So who are the ones that are like herding cats then?” Sherlock had snickered about that one time, so of course Greg was curious.

Mycroft’s nose twitched. “Imagine a flock full of Sherlocks and you have an idea. At least sheep are obedient.”

“Jesus I’d lose my mind completely. Speaking of losing my mind, have the bureaucrats gotten the acknowledgement paperwork back to us?”

“No.” There was a world of annoyance in that short word. “It never takes this long, they are doing it out of spite, sitting on the paperwork.”

Greg carded his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, “Well we can do one of three things. One, we can just wait for the paperwork to come back. Personally I’m sick of waiting. Two, we can make a personal visit to deal with it. Or three, we can send Sherlock to make the entire council cry.”

Mycroft had to chuckle at that. “I’m tired of waiting too and as much as I would love to see the entire council in tears, sadly that wouldn’t get us our paperwork any quicker. My vote is therefore a personal visit.” 

“Mmm good thing my boss likes the vampire council about as much as she likes smugglers. easy to get the time off.” He pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s jaw, “I’m going to shower off the sweat from the chases today.”

Mycroft nodded, he thought Greg smelled delicious but he understood the pleasure of washing away a day’s work. “Do you wish for me to send for food while you shower?”

“So long as you don’t mind being dessert,” he gave Mycroft a sly, sensual smile.

“You know me; I have the ultimate sweet tooth.” Mycroft smiled back and kept his eyes on Greg appreciatively until his lover was out of sight in the bathroom. He removed his gold cufflinks and put them in their box before rolling up his shirtsleeves to his elbows. Then he walked into the sitting room to call down to the kitchen and have food brought up for Greg.

It didn’t take long for a knock to sound but Mycroft got a surprise when it was Anthea on the other side standing next to the small food cart, and amused tilt to her expression.

“Anthea,” Mycroft held the door open so she could step inside. “Is there a situation?” He couldn’t really think of any other reason for his PA to visit like this. Mycroft reached for the food cart and rolled it over so that it was next to the table. 

She passed him a folder, “No but you have the next three days off sir. Make good use of them.” Her dryad nature was showing in the playful gleam of her eyes as she waited for him to look in the folder.

Mycroft flicked the folder open and let his eyes run over the information inside, his eyebrows creeping upwards as he took in what it was. “You have been busy Anthea...Thank you.” He looked from the folder, a small flush on his features. “I will turn my phone off, please make sure things run smooth and do not disturb us unless the world is in peril.”

“I can assure you that you won’t be disturbed at all sir. I’ve already contacted Lieutenant Lestrade’s superiors about his imminent change in status and received the reply of ‘It’s about bloody time.’ So nothing will disturb you from that corner either. Good evening sir.” She stepped back from the door and clipped down the hall, a smile spreading over her face.

He closed the door and looked around the room. Mycroft had to admit that his heart was beating quicker at the thought of Greg finally becoming his mate in every way. The glands behind his teeth practically itched at the thought. He was not an overly romantic man but while Greg was in the shower, Mycroft took the time to light every candle he could find in their bedroom. It was a momentous occasion after all.

Of course when Greg came out, towel hitched low around his hips, he immediately knew something was up. He knew his lover, very well he might add, and he knew how little the traditional romance schemes ever occurred to him. “What’s this then?”

Mycroft walked up to him and bent his head to lick at a stray bead of water running down Greg’s chest. “A bit of a celebration I think.” He looked up to meet Greg’s eyes as he took the folder he had tucked under his arm and handed it to Greg.

Before he even opened the folder Greg’s heart began to beat harder. There were only so many things that could come in a folder that warranted a romantic celebration after all. Careful not to drip on the papers he scanned the first few lines before an excited grin parted his lips. He didn’t even have to think to figure out who they owed for this either. “We’ll have to come up with a really good birthday present for Anthea.”

“I’m all for that.” Mycroft nodded and slipped closer again so he could nearly plaster himself against Greg, not caring at all that his clothes got damp. “I have yet to find out what date her birthday is on though; even I know that it is bad manners to ask a lady about her age.” Mycroft was close to vibrating with anticipation and he recognized that he was probably babbling.

“We’ll find out. Later, much later,” he gently set the folder aside and wrapped his arms around Mycroft before taking his mouth in a deep kiss. He pulled his lover even closer against him and his hands went to the buttons of his clothes, wanting them skin to skin.

Letting out a moan, Mycroft did his best to help Greg, shedding his waistcoat and shirt. He threw them over his shoulder, for once not caring where they fell, he only made sure not to throw them on on any candles. “Gods I want you, you have no idea how much I want you.” His fangs had already dropped, pressing against his bottom lip.

Greg’s hands slipped over Mycroft’s shoulders, down his arms, and across his ribs, “Actually,” his voice was husky with lust and anticipation, “I think I might have an inkling.” He licked over Mycroft’s lips, taking care not to seriously damage his tongue over the fangs as he gave them special attention. His hands were busy unfastening Mycroft’s trousers. “And you’re going to have me, all of me baby.”

“Mmm, I look forward to it.” Mycroft’s hands went down to the fastenings of his trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping but it was made difficult by the fact that he couldn’t stop grinding against Greg. It felt as if his whole body was on fire and only Greg could make it better.

Greg kissed along Mycroft’s jaw and helped him shed his trousers and pants, curling his fingers around the hard shaft of his lover’s prick after Mycroft had kicked the offending articles of clothing away. He licked at the hollow under Mycroft’s ear, sucked on the lobe, and stroked his very soon to be mate’s erection slowly.

Mycroft groaned and bucked into Greg’s touch. His own hands traveled over Greg’s chest, tracing ribs and pinching his lover’s nipples. He walked both of them backwards until he could push Greg down on the bed and climb on top of him. “I want to ride you until we pop.”

He was flushed and naked and harder than he’d ever been in his life. He wasn’t about to argue. He stroked his hands around to cup Mycroft’s bum, squeezing the firm globes as he licked up Mycroft’s throat. “Hate to say it but it won’t take much for me. Little embarrassing knowing I’m going to go off soon but God you’re just too fucking hot.” He nipped gently at a tendon that was standing out. “Get the lube baby.”

Mycroft squeezed his thighs around Greg’s hips and leaned over the bed so he could reached into the bedside drawer and get the lube. He flipped the lid open and got his fingers slick before he reached behind himself to prepare himself as quickly as he could.

A groan rumbled out of Greg’s chest. Seeing Mycroft positioned like that, knowing what he was doing with his hand, it had him leaking without so much as a touch to his cock. He reared up so he could tongue one of his lover’s nipples, his hands coasting down Mycroft’s thighs then back up to tickle his fingers over his perineum. 

“Oh God!” Mycroft bucked again, riding his own fingers, scissoring them as quickly as he could. He wouldn’t last through any heavy foreplay he just wanted Greg inside him. He reached up and took hold of Greg’s erection, pumping it a few times before positioning it at his opening, sinking down on Greg with an impatient groan.

Greg’s hands went behind him, a long, low moan coming from him as he was enveloped by his lover’s body. He angled his head up and caught Mycroft’s mouth, feeling the fangs press delicately against his lips as he used the leverage of his hands to roll his hips up, driving himself just a little deeper into Mycroft.

Mycroft’s back arched like a bow and he licked the roof of Greg’s mouth as he felt his lover fill him. He slowly rolled his hips, feeling Greg inside him before beginning to rise and lower himself. His cock was leaking down on Greg’s stomach. This was not going to be slow and gentle, no matter how much Mycroft would have liked it to be. He was aching, wanton, desperate.

Greg sucked on Mycroft’s tongue as he rolled up into the downward thrusts the other man made. He shivered, fire licking over his senses as each hard slide sent ecstasy shooting through him and drew him inexorably closer to coming. It was already a near thing, he’d have liked for this to have been slow and drawn out but they’d waited too long for this, too long to matebond to be together in every way they could, to completely belong to each other. He reached down between them to stroke Mycroft’s cock with each thrust, determined to bring his lover off before he came.

It wasn’t going to take much; Mycroft was already close to the edge. His whole body was tingling and his toes close to curling. He buried his fingers in Greg’s silvery hair and licked his way up and down Greg’s throat. “I’m going to come.” He squeezed around the prick inside him, his body already tensing up as he could feel his orgasm roll in over him. Just as it hit he sank his fangs into Greg’s neck.

The squeeze of Mycroft’s body around him and the feel of the fangs sinking into him pulled Greg into orgasm after Mycroft and he was spilling himself inside his lover, his mate now, with a shout.

Nothing was really different but Mycroft’s whole world had changed, changed for the better. He was part of a whole now, one half of something bigger. His body was still trembling and Greg’s blood on his tongue had never tasted better than this. He pulled away a little so he could meet his mate’s eyes. “Are you absolutely sure?” Mycroft needed to ask, he didn’t want to do anything that Greg might regret later on.

Greg leaned in to nuzzle Mycroft’s cheek, “Completely, utterly, absolutely sure Mycroft. It’s what I want baby.”

“Okay.” Mycroft was most worried about the pain, about his mate being in pain and him unable to help. It was what he wanted too though so with his eyes still locked on Greg’s, he brought his wrist to his mouth and bit into it. As the blood welled up he brought it to Greg’s lips as his own mouth latched back onto his mate’s neck.

Blood in his mouth tended to remind Greg of things better left forgotten but this was different. He licked at the bite his mate had placed on his own wrist before sealing his mouth over it and sucking. It tasted like zinc, salt, and iron, like any other blood but he knew that after he changed that would as well so he swallowed, drinking it down.

For a vampire, sharing blood like this was the ultimate intimacy. He swallowed Greg’s blood down and gave of his own until even their blood would be one. From now on they would feed off each other exclusively. Mycroft knew that the enzymes he had flooded Greg’s bloodstream with, would trigger the change shortly so he took one last mouthful of blood and licked the wounds closed. 

Greg pulled back with a final swallow and watched as the punctures in his mate’s wrist closed in front of his eyes. According to what he’d been told, his muscles would start cramping in a few minutes as the change took hold so he angled his head and caught Mycroft’s mouth in a long, gentle kiss before it started. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Mycroft slid down so that he was lying against Greg’s side, his arms wrapped around his mate. He couldn’t do anything for the pain but he would be there for Greg trough it all. “I love you and I’m sorry you’ll hurt because of me.”

“Idiot,” he pressed his lips to Mycroft’s shoulder, “It’s my choice because and for the both of us. Don’t be sorry or guilty.” He inhaled sharply when his stomach cramped suddenly and turned into Mycroft, knowing it was just the beginning.

Mycroft held him, rubbed Greg’s back and pressed his cheeks against his mate’s. He couldn’t imagine the pain of going through the change, every single cell being altered. He wished that it would be over quickly. It didn’t matter what Greg said, Mycroft still felt guilty.

It came in waves, massive cramping and tearing pain as his body chemistry and cells changed interspersed with moments of rest that he was damn fucking grateful for. During those moments he’d nuzzle and pet Mycroft and make reassuring murmurs, knowing his mate still felt guilty over the pain. He would too in Mycroft’s position. Still it was what he wanted and it would be worth the pain. He didn’t make much sound, choosing to pant through the pain, until his fangs formed and ripped through his gums without warning, “Ah! Sonuva-mmnh.”

Mycroft hugged Greg tightly and cupped the back of his mate’s neck, bringing Greg’s mouth to his neck, offering it up. Once the fangs had formed, Mycroft knew that his blood would help Greg and Greg would need a lot of blood. “Bite love.”

Greg sent a mental thank you in the direction of Barrowman who’d given intense detail because otherwise he’d have refused. Instead he opened his mouth and sank his new dental acquisitions into Mycroft’s neck carefully. This time, when Mycroft’s blood hit his tongue he had to moan. Dark chocolate, port wine, and cream sinful and decadent and perfectly Mycroft. He fed lightly, carefully, keeping a sharp control on himself having been forewarned about the possibility of falling into a temporary accidental bloodfever and not wanting to cause Mycroft harm or upset.

Mycroft’s fingers were in Greg’s hair, holding the other man close to his neck. Mycroft had never been fed from before, had never offered his neck to anyone but this was his mate. It felt like nothing else ever had. The knowledge that they had forever in front of them know was heady and Mycroft lowered all his defenses. He felt his cheeks grow damp with tears but they were tears of joy.

Greg had to pull his mouth away, carefully licking the bite mark to stop the bleeding before another violent wave of pain gripped him. He didn’t want to bite down too hard out of reflex and hurt Mycroft. He lifted shaking hands to wipe at the tears and nuzzled his cheek against his mate’s despite the pain. He somehow maneuvered so that he was sheltering Mycroft instinctively wanting to protect his mate while he was vulnerable. He felt his fingers itch and jerked his hands back just as his claws sliced out for the first time, hurting like a bitch.

He reached for Greg’s hand and laced their fingers together, ignoring the razor sharp claws. Holding Greg’s hand like this would not hurt him. “You don’t have to worry about me love, you’re not going to hurt me and even if you do I will heal right up, just like you will from now on.” Mycroft leaned his forehead against Greg’s.

He brushed his lips lightly against Mycroft’s and spoke raspily, “Protecting is part of who I am baby.” The pain receded again, letting him retract the claws and returning his control enough that he could kiss Mycroft a little deeper without worrying about his fangs cutting open his lip.

“I know and I love you for it. My brave guardian.” Mycroft spoke against Greg’s lips in between kisses. He placed his hand over Greg’s heart, feeling how it was already beating slower, almost in rhythm with his own. “My lover and my mate. Do you feel it? The bond between us?”

It was a bad time to ask as Greg was a little bit distracted but he ignored the soreness and aching and explored until he felt it, a warm completion in a hidden part of himself and the way his heart was slowing down to match Mycroft’s. “I feel it.” His hand covered his mate’s, “I feel it.” He nuzzled his face against Mycroft’s again in affection.

Mycroft knew that his mate was tired and aching, most of all he would have wanted to pull the covers over them stay as they were but he had to get out of the bed to put out the candles. He kissed Greg and inched out of bed to get it done, the sooner he put them out the sooner he could return to his mate’s side.

There were a few lingering ripples of cramps shuddering through him but as far as Greg was concerned they were negligible. He watched as Mycroft put the candles out one by one, darkening the room, his newly enhanced sight having no difficulty seeing his mate clearly as he did so. “Do you know you taste like chocolate, wine, and cream?” Well that slipped out without warning, he was officially knackered.

Mycroft threw him a look over a naked, freckled shoulder. “No, I did not know that, as long as my taste suits your palate then I am pleased.” He continued to put out the candles until their bedroom was shadows and darkness. After that he walked out to the sitting room, bringing the carafe of water from the food card back with him to the bedroom in case Greg would be thirsty during the night. Mycroft placed it on the bedside table and crawled back in bed. “You my love, you taste like aged cognac, black pepper and caramel, amazing and addictive.”

Greg hummed and wiggled close to Mycroft, “I’m perfectly happy to be your drug baby.” He closed his eyes, completely exhausted.

“Sleep mate of mine.” Mycroft gathered Greg in his arms and spooned up against him, pulling the coverlet over their naked bodies. Greg needed rest and time to readjust, time they had, all the time in the world.

He pressed his face into Mycroft’s shoulder, murmured, “I love you,” and then fell directly into sleep, out like a light. So deeply asleep that he missed his phone going off, the alert noise customized for Sherlock as the Pink Panther theme.

Without leaving the bed Mycroft stretched until he could reach Greg’s phone. 

‘Whatever it is, it can wait for at least three days. Go bother your own mate. - M’

‘I simply wanted to let you know that John and I have sent a muscle salve formulated for the newly turned to you. It should be beside your quarters’ door in the morning. Don’t make assumptions about me Mycroft. - SH’

‘I stand corrected, I do apologize...and thank you. - M’

It was wrong to jump down Sherlock’s throat without having any information regarding his errand. Mycroft was just waiting for something to intrude, interrupt and not let them have this time to bond together properly. Mycroft was not used to being happy, did not think that he deserved it.

‘You’re welcome. Relax for your three days Mycroft. Nothing will intrude. - SH’ Sherlock’s expression as he sent that was grim determination. He was coordinating with Anthea to take care of any messes that might try and ruin the ‘honeymoon’ so to speak.

That text reassured Mycroft like little else. If Sherlock said nothing was going to intrude then nothing would. 

‘I trust you little brother, thank you. - M’ He turned the sound off on Greg’s phone and placed it back on the table before snuggling down with his sleeping mate.

_**To be continued…** _


	21. Part Twenty-One

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; Sherlock and John pick up something completely unexpected on their way home from a patrol._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-One._ **

One clawed hand tore viciously through the lower spine of a vampire roughly two hundred years old and Sherlock followed through by ripping his head off. The consulting detective was very obviously in a foul mood. Two days and it seemed as though every low ranked moron in the country was trying to scoot up the ladder while Mycroft was helping Greg adjust to vampirism. “Someone is behind this sudden surge in idiocy.”

“Absolutely, it’s too well organized to be just power-hungry vamps trying to usurp the king.” John panted slightly, the knife he was holding dripped blood sluggishly from where he’d used it to cut a vampire’s throat. “How do they even know that Mycroft is not on point at this moment?”

“Council leak and I know exactly which ones.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and wiped his hand clean of blood, “Just as I know their own weaknesses. Both are unmated and both are unstable because of it, and all of the council will learn in precisely a day and a half just what happens when you push the Master of Britain’s temper.”

“I actually look forward to it; I hope Mycroft makes the council burn.” John pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned the blood off of his blade. “If he’s even half as scary as you just were, it will be a bloody good show.” John actually grinned at his mate despite the fact that they were standing in an alley with two headless bodies at their feet.

“Much as I am loathe to grant my brother any sort of approval, he is far more intimidating than I am in such situations. He’s had longer to practice and more training explicitly to be intimidating.” Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a text to Anthea for cleanup of the vampire corpses.

John looked down at the bodies before stepping away as to not get blood on his shoes. “In this Mycroft should be intimidating, he should scare the crap out of them to be honest. Mycroft will never be my favorite person but he’s family and he deserves to acclimate with his mate without this shite being pulled.”

“Indeed,” he set his hand at John’s waist, tugging him back into the street just as a cleanup team arrived. “In addition it’s generally considered bad form to make a power play when your opponent is guiding a newborn through the process. Were Mycroft anyone else he’d have two weeks for it, not just three days.”

“It’s unfair, I know Greg so I know he’ll come longer in three days than anyone else could in two weeks but it is still unfair.” John shook his head as he walked, pressed close to Sherlock, they didn’t need to watch the clean up.

“Very unfair but such is the price of power. The council morons behind this would have choked the time down on purpose, hoping to force Mycroft to leave Lestrade during a delicate time. A mated vampire’s stability depends on the stability of their mate and if said mate is a newborn that hasn’t had the proper time and training to adjust, the odds of them being unstable and giving in to accidental blood fever are high and they’d bring their mate down with them,” he smirked, “That said, Lestrade will be boosting Mycroft’s status among the community simply by being.” He had utmost faith in Lestrade’s control and abilities.

“Greg is a remarkable man.” John nodded. “Not only will the council idiots face Mycroft’s wrath, they will learn just who Greg is and how far he’s willing to go to protect his people.” John protected his family as well, he was happy though that Sherlock was Sherlock and not the Master of Britain. Politics it seemed, existed everywhere and John had little patience for it. 

“Hm, I wonder if I can persuade Mycroft to record the proceedings,” Sherlock wouldn’t lie, he did very much want to see the ones behind this mess taken down.

John looked up at his mate. “Persuade? This is Mycroft; he records everything if he can. You saying you would want to watch it is probably like Christmas to him.” 

Sherlock chuckled, “He might actually feel appreciated if I do. Dinner?”

“Mm, yes. I could eat.” John reached for Sherlock’s hand and entwined their fingers as they walked down the street.

“Takeaway or eat in?” He rubbed his thumb along the side of John’s hand in an affectionate touch. 

“Eat in.” John was still happy to be home at Baker Street and found himself wanting to spend the time not on cases or fighting bad vamps there. Preferably with Sherlock by his side. 

“Home it is then,” Sherlock entertained the both of them by making rapid-fire deductions about the people they passed along the way and didn’t notice the step of footsteps following them until they were almost home. _’John do you hear those steps?’_

 _’Yes, short, light ones.’_ John squeezed Sherlock’s hand lightly but didn’t turn around to see if he could see their stalker. Whoever it was that was following them was trying very, very hard to be sneaky. John’s hunter instincts didn’t state danger but you could never be too cautious all the same.

There were several things it could be, a dwarf, a gnome, an imp, a lesser fae, the list went on and on, half good, half bad. He slid a look over at John. _Let’s go into Speedy’s then I’ll go out the back door so I can get behind whatever it is.’_

 _’Okay, I’ll keep my eyes open in this direction.’_ By now John’s body and mind was prone for a fight but he managed to look relaxed as they opened the door to Speedy’s and stepped inside.

Sherlock kissed John on the cheek then made as if he was going to the bathroom, slipping out the back door instead. He circled around quickly, using the rooftops, and dropped down behind their stalked, who was just peeking out from behind a line of bins. “Who ar-”

The stalker made a frightened squeak and spun around to look up at him, way up, with big green eyes wide in a face that was freckled and pale and very, very...young.

Sherlock’s thoughts essentially stuttered to a shocked halt at the sight of the vampire child.

John left Speedy’s and jogged over to where he could sense his mate being. “Did you get...” He looked down at the small child with a look of utter surprise. Any other time he would have been terribly amused by Sherlock and the child’s twin expression of fright but John still didn’t know why this vampire child was following them. He crouched down next to the child. “Who are you then?” 

The little ginger headed child rounded its shoulders and chewed on the collar of a dingy gray t-shit that was far, far too little protection for the English weather, mumbling into the fabric, that had obviously been abused in the same manner many times over. “Dunno.”

Sherlock’s brain was rebooting and taking in details about the child, the raggedy clothes, complete lack of shoes, the resemblance to the two rogues they’d just taken out, and his stomach turned as he crouched down beside John, “Do you have a name?”

The mop of floppy, unwashed red hair shook in the negative.

John took in the clothes as well. Also the doctor in him saw that the child was much, much too thin, malnourished, unwashed and John could see faint traces of bruises. He didn’t even want to think about what it took to put bruises on a vampire child. 

“Do you have anywhere to go?” John’s question was followed by another headshake.

 _’We have to him/her with us, at least for now.’_ John gave Sherlock an imploring look. He couldn’t tell if the child was a boy or a girl but he knew they couldn’t leave it on the streets.

Sherlock didn’t need the pleading look, not really. He reached out, ignoring the instinctive flinch the child made, and gently tilted the chin towards him so the eyes met his, “Do you want to come with us? Answer out loud.” His voice was gentle but firm, expecting to be obeyed without being harsh.

“Y-yes.” 

The child made another squeak when Sherlock just picked it up, bringing him or her in close to his chest so that his coat could provide some shelter from the wind. “John would you call Anthousa and see if she would have some blood delivered?”

“Of course.” John was already reaching for his phone, calling Anthea as he walked next to Sherlock, hurrying to unlock the door to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson did not come out to greet them and right now John thought that was for the best. The child must be unsettled enough as it was. 

Sherlock carried the child upstairs and sat down on the sofa with it, letting him or her scramble away and huddle in the crook of the arm, “Boy or girl?”

Green eyes darting everywhere, looking for escape routes and hiding spaces, the child made a skittish mumble, “Girl.”

John ended the call. “Blood will be here within fifteen minutes.” John sat down in his armchair to seem less threatening and to give the girl space so that she wouldn’t feel trapped. He would make her a bath later on and for now she could use one of Sherlock’s sleeping t-shirts as a nightgown or something. He wouldn’t rush things though. “Would you like some warm tea while we wait for the blood?” John looked into huge bright green eyes. “I think we have some poppy seed cake as well.”

The girl looked confused and started chewing on her shirt again.

“It’s a sweet,” Sherlock met the startled eyes that jerked to him in surprise, “made of flour and sugar and poppy seeds. Are you thirsty?”

She nodded, folding her arms around her drawn up knees.

_’John go ahead and make her some tea. Leave the cake for now.’_

John gave a short nod and went out to the kitchen to make the tea. He stayed there while the kettle boiled, he made a large cup with tea, topping it off with plenty of sugar and a dash of milk. Until she got blood, something hot and sweet was just what she needed. John brought the cup out to the living room and put it down in front of the scared little girl. “Here you go sweetheart.”

She looked at the tea, studying it like Sherlock tended to study a particularly hard puzzle.

Sherlock picked the cup up, took a sip himself, then set it back down for her.

And just that fast she snatched the cup up and was drinking the tea, the cup almost ridiculously large in her tiny hands.

 _’She won’t trust prepared food or drink for a while unless she watches it being made. One of us will need to ‘test’ it for her before she’ll take it.’_

_’Poor little thing.’_ John’s heart ached with sympathy. His nurturing side rising to the surface. _’I wish we could go back and kill her bastards of parents again, only making it hurt more.’_ Child abuse was one thing John would never accept.

There was a knock on the door and John ran downstairs to get the blood. He returned upstairs quickly carrying the packs of blood.

Sherlock took one of them from John and held it out to the girl.

Green eyes jerked between the blood bag and Sherlock’s face in vague disbelief.

“Go on. It’s for you.” Sherlock’s heart squeezed painfully when she snatched the bag and bit into the corner, sucking the blood out desperately. God only knew how long she’d been without feeding properly, if she ever had fed properly.

 _’Gods Sherlock, how have they treated her?’_ John’s heart was still aching, he knew that Sherlock must be reminded of his own childhood too, seeing this little girl and John wanted to wrap both of them in his arms and protect them from everything. 

_’Starved, beaten, high probability of poisoning, the clothes are too big so she likely dug through bins for them herself, deliberately harmful neglect for the most part I believe, direct physical abuse only when she ‘got in the way’ so to speak or made herself known. Two hundred year old parents, likely they subscribe to the ‘rarely seen and not heard’ belief as well as that of lower value for females.’_ Sherlock noticed her glancing at the bags again and took another one from John, “Drink this one slowly,” he passed it to her with that order and watched as she struggled to pace herself with the second bag, clearly afraid it would be snatched away.

John hadn’t expected Sherlock to answer so literally but of course he should have, it was Sherlock after all. He wasn’t sorry that he and Sherlock had disposed of the girl’s parents, she was better off without them. Without conscious thought he walked over to Sherlock and wrapped his mate in a tight hug, just because he wanted to. _’I’ll go run a bath, we need to get some dirt and grime off of this little one.’_

Sherlock lifted a hand to John’s arm and turned his head to brush his lips against his mate’s jaw. _’Alright. Look in my closet, there should be a dolphin plush with a shirt on it that will fit her.’_ He was aware of the girl having stopped drinking to stare at them in curious interest.

John wondered if she had ever seen pure honest affection before, even between her parents. He tilted his head up and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his mate’s lips. _’I love you, and I’ll probably pilfer one of your silk boxers as well, if we tighten the elastic she should be able to wear them until we find something better.’_

_’Go ahead. There’s sewing knickknacks in the green tackle box if you need them.’_ He ran his fingers through John’s hair with a slight smile.

 _’If there’s something I excel at it’s sewing, can’t be that much difference between fabric and skin.’_ John grinned and kissed Sherlock again before dropping to press a kiss to the top of the little girl’s head too. He left her staring at him with shocked eyes as he went to get the bath and the clothes ready.

“The bag is leaking.” Sherlock watched the girl jump then latch back on to the blood bag, not wanting to lose any of her food. He shifted, moving to perch his bum on the opposite arm of the couch, feet on the cushion, and brought his hands up in his usual thinking pose. “You need a name. Neither I nor John will be addressing you as ‘girl’ or ‘hey you’ or any other idiocy you might have been called up to this point.” 

Big green eyes just blinked at him disbelievingly.

“Let’s see. Judith?” He noted a displeased twitch, quickly hidden but there, “Hm no then. Emma?” An eye roll that had him chuckling, “Eadith?” Absolute disgust, “Okay no. Hmm Matilda?” He laughed at the look that gained him, “Margaret? Isabel? Eleanor? Anne?” No, no, no, and no, all punctuated with varying degrees of signs of dislike. He tapped his fingers together and scanned the room, his eyes falling on the skull and he tilted his head before looking at the girl, who was now uncurling slowly, “Victoria?”

She blinked, nibbled her lip, then nodded cautiously.

“Victoria it is then. John is running you a bath Victoria,” he saw her wrinkle her nose, “I’m afraid you’ll not be getting out of having a bath. You have dirt on your dirt.”

John came back with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’d run a bubble bath for the little girl and altered a pair of Sherlock’s underwear. He’d heard his mate talk while he got things ready and his pride and love for Sherlock grew even stronger. “Come along Tory, let’s get you clean. Afterwards you can have more blood if you’re still hungry. We can turn the telly on and wrap you in a blanket.” 

She looked at Sherlock in confusion.

“‘Tory’ is a less common nickname or shortened form of Victoria utilized,” he gave John a fond yet exasperated look, “by lazy people who don’t want to bother with the entire name.” He got to his feet and held out a hand to the child. “The sooner you take the bath, the sooner you’re back in here with some more blood and watching some sort of cartoon creature dance about on the television screen.”

She scooted hesitantly off the couch and curled tiny fingers around two of his fingers.

“He’s wrong you know.” John told the little girl as they walked toward the bathroom. “Shortening a name is a sign of affection, not laziness...And if a certain someone call me lazy again then he can mind the kettle, get the blood, run the bath, alter pants all on his merry own.” 

“You don’t shorten my name...on second thought never shorten my name,” there were only two possible nicknames for him and the most obvious one might have him retaliating in a manner that could start a prank war.

John shot Sherlock an amused look. “I thought not.” He turned to the girl again. “You see, Shirley can be so silly at times. Calling me lazy.” He shook his head sadly. “Come on _Victoria_ let’s feel the water, not too hot is it?”

She clung tightly to Sherlock’s hand and poked at the water like you might poke at a jellyfish with a stick.

Sherlock gave John a dirty look. _’I will get even if you continue using that name John Hamish Watson.’_

_’Then watch what you say lover of mine.’_ John raised an eyebrow teasingly. He watched how the girl had bonded with Sherlock already, he supposed he should feel jealous but he didn’t, he was just happy she had found someone that she appeared to trust. 

_’I will bite you. And not in the enjoyable way.’_ He looked down at Victoria, “Does the temperature meet with your approval?”

She gone from poking at the water to swishing it around with her hand and now she looked up at him, chewing on her lip, “Safe?”

He nodded, “Yes, it’s safe.”

“Completely safe.” John looked between his mate and the little girl. “I’ll leave the two of you to bathe. Some in this household still need actual food to survive.” 

“Don’t open the orange Tupperware container,” Sherlock began carefully coaxing Victoria to undress so she could get in the tub.

“Sherlock, how long have we lived together now? I don’t open any Tupperware containers, I learned my lesson after the third time.” He gave his mate a fond look. “Spaghetti and tomatoes should be safe, either that or beans on toast.” 

“Everything’s safe, aside from the orange Tupperware. Nothing toxic or even vaguely affecting the human system.” His jaw tensed, a nerve ticking when Victoria let him take the shirt off and he saw old scars on her back. Actual scars. 

John saw them too and his hands tightened into fists before he forced himself to relax. Knowing that too many people in the room while she bathed would upset her, John walked into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and breathed deeply in an effort to control himself. How could someone do that to a child? Suddenly he wasn’t hungry at all. He reached for the kettle instead, making himself a cuppa out of the lukewarm water.

Sherlock helped the girl keep her balance as she stepped out of the ratty shorts she wore and then into the bathtub. He looked more closely at the scars as he soaped a cloth and ran it over her back, “Hellhound?”

She nodded, “Mr. Lee’s. Wasn’t s’posed to open the fridge.”

The male of the vampire duo they’d killed that evening had been Liam Smythe, the father was likely this Mr. Lee. Who’d set his hellhound to guarding the blood just so his daughter couldn’t eat. “Here stand up,” he helped her stand in the tub so he could scrub the dirt from her legs and feet. “When did you last feed before tonight?”

“Had a rat two days ago.” She turned and took the washcloth from him and set about washing her own front.

Sherlock winced. Rat blood. It was the worst thing a vampire could feed on, the nutritional equivalent of instant ramen noodles. A vampire could live on it but it negatively affected their health. He pulled the stopper out of the tub and let the, very dirty, water drain out. he took the detachable showerhead and carefully manipulated the water temperature to the right warmth before having her sit back down and tilt her head back so he could wet her hair. He squeezed a hefty amount of shampoo into his hands and worked on getting the grime out of her hair. A rinse, conditioner, another shampoo and rinse and then he was wrapping her in a fluffy towel that nearly swallowed her it was so big.

 

John had managed to find a channel on the telly that seemed to cater to children, even in the evening. He’d also been up to his old room and managed to dig out an old knitted blanket out of his closet. His grandmother from Aberdeen had knitted the blanket for John when he was just a baby. His grandmother was the only one in his family that John had managed to relate to, when she died he had been absolutely heartbroken. The blanket was soft and warm and John hoped that Victoria would feel comfortable wrapped in it. 

Sherlock dressed Victoria in the modified pants and the SeaWorld t-shirt that had been worn by the giant stuffed dolphin Mrs. Hudson had given him years ago and set about carefully detangling and brushing out the mop of now revealed to be bright copper hair rather than the dull orange it had looked like before. “How old are you?”

“Dunno.”

“Do you know how many years ago your fangs came in?” Fangs only came in after age three.

She screwed up her face in thought, “Two an’ a half.”

His lips twitched. He’d lay odds that the half was much less than a half truth be told. He sent a gentle wave of affection to John over their bond. _’Are you okay?’_

John stood with the blanket pressed to his nose. If he really tried he could still smell the gingersnaps his grandmother used the bake, along with the heather growing outside on the moor. _’I think so. How are the both of you?’_ John worried both about the little girl who had snuck into their lives and about Sherlock. 

_’She’s relaxing and answering questions. The scars are from a hellhound. She’s been living on rats, probably caught them herself. I’m...fine.’_ He finished untangling her hair and picked her up, getting clutched at in surprise, to carry her into the living room.

 _’No you’re not fine. I love you, I love you so much and we are going to make sure Victoria will be fine from now on, save and well.’_ John wished he could do more. He had no idea what it was like to live on rats but he could relate to fending for himself. _’I’ve got everything set up out here for her. Even got Gammy’s blanket out of the closet.’_

 _’Come back downstairs John.’_ Sherlock sat on the couch again, letting Victoria squirm away and sit on the other end once more. This time she didn’t curl into herself though, which was definite progress.

 _’Coming’_ John took the blanket and walked down from the attic bedroom. He saw his mate and the little girl in the living room and walked over, crouching down and holding out the blanket to Victoria. “My grandmother knitted this for me and I would be very happy if you would like to use it.” He knew better than to push the blanket at her, he wanted to make it her choice if she wanted it or not.

She cocked her head and carefully took the blanket from him, studying the way the yarn twisted and knotted together before wrapping it around herself and watching with wide eyes as Sherlock pulled the hunter down into his lap for a cuddle. She wasn’t used to seeing gentleness. Even the affection her parents had given each other had been violent. This was something different.

John leaned back against Sherlock, wanting and needing the comfort his mate could bring right now. He smiled at Victoria, even as he leaned his head back to nuzzle lightly against Sherlock’s neck. “I put blood in the mug in front of you, gave you a straw too.” 

Sherlock’s arms wrapped around John as he watched Victoria pick up the mug and sniff at the blood cautiously before sipping. He rested his cheek on top of John’s head and covered his heart with his hand, feeling the beat.

Rather than watch the cartoon, Victoria was watching them. She didn’t really know why she’d followed them aside from it just seeming the better option. She’d been afraid the people burning her parents’ corpses would take her away and lock her up somewhere even rats didn’t live and being killed by the same pair who’d killed her parents had seemed preferable. But they hadn’t killed her. They were...taking care of her. It was very much beyond her realm of experience.

John raised his hand to rest on top of Sherlock’s on his chest. He felt for Victoria, already she had managed to crawl beneath his skin and make him want to protect and care for her. His parents had always complained about him taking in strays when he was young. This was different though, he didn’t just want to fix her and set her free. John wanted to keep her and that scared him witless.

 _’John?’_ Sherlock’s mental voice was ripe with concern. He rubbed his thumb over the material of John’s shirt soothingly. _’What’s wrong?’_

 _’Nothing’s wrong love, promise.’_ John had learned that he couldn’t lie through their mental bond and nothing was wrong, not really and he absolutely did not want Sherlock to worry about this. Not when there was so much else going on. 

_’John.’_ It was warning and scolding and demanding all at the same time and he pulled John tighter against him, as if he could learn what was bothering his mate by osmosis.

Though Victoria wasn’t a mind reader she knew something was going on and watched in rapt attention as the two men’s body languages told a story.

_’Nothing is wrong, I wouldn’t lie to you, you know that...It’s just...I’m scared. Victoria has already crawled inside my heart and it scares me. I’m not cut out to be a parent and the fact that she makes me want to be one is terrifying.’_

_’On what information are you basing your hypothesis about your parenting ability?’_ Sherlock nuzzled John’s hair affectionately. Most of him was focused on his mate but he’d already devoted ten percent of his total attention to keeping an eye/ear/nose/whatever on Victoria so he was aware of her wide eyed, curious gaze on them.

 _’You have no idea how I was raised Sherlock and as long as I have any say you will never know. Let’s just say that my role models weren’t the best. I...I don’t know how to be a parent.’_ John had already said more than he’d intended to, he was snuggled against Sherlock and watched Victoria with warm eyes, wanting her to feel as comfortable as she could being in a strange place with the people who had killed her parents. 

_’Do you expect that I do? You know about MY upbringing. Not particularly conducive to acquiring parenting abilities.’_

_’I know, I’m sorry.’_ John shouldn’t have gone there, he already regretted it. No matter what his childhood had been like, Sherlock’s had been worse. John knew that, it was just wrong to feel sorry about himself in that situation. Beatings healed and words couldn’t really hurt you. His parents hadn’t called forth a spirit rift, John was the lucky one. 

_’You don’t need to be sorry. Of the two of us you are the more parental, not because of your experience but because of your instincts and core nature. You are a caregiver John, a healer. It is in all that you are to protect and nurture.’_ The words were accompanied by a scold for any guilt John was already castigating himself with.

Victoria was fascinated with the shifting emotions on their faces and unconsciously scooted closer. Though she could read frustration in Sherlock, there was no violence, nothing bad in the air.

 _’I should still apologize; I was way out of line.’_ John was well aware that his childhood and Sherlock’s could not compare. He should never have brought it up in the first place, he already regretted it, he should never have said anything in the first place. John looked over at Victoria. “Are you comfortable sweetie?”

She nodded, eyes going impossibly wide when she saw Sherlock’s fingers pinch John’s side in silent rebuke.

 _’Stop. That. I am not playing a game of Kings over Queens John. I share my scars with you because I know that I can trust you with them. Do you not trust me with yours? Trust me not to belittle them? You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to but if you’re remaining silent because you feel as if your scars are less affecting than mine I will be very angry. You were hurt, hurt is hurt and it is equal.’_

_’I’m not playing any sort of game Sherlock, I wouldn’t do that. Of course I trust you, I trust you with everything that I am but I don’t have a childhood worth mentioning.’_ John took hold of the hand that had pinched him and brought it to his mouth, kissing each and every digit.

 _’Then do not let it affect your assessment of your capability to provide parental care. You are better at such things than I. It’s a natural state for you.’_ He smiled at the kisses and placed one of his own on the back of John’s neck.

Victoria’s nose twitched like a curious little rabbit. This was...nice. The feelings around were nice.

John snuggled against Sherlock, already burying his childhood deep inside where it belonged. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Victoria watching them, her copper locks glistening in the light of the telly. She was a beautiful, adorable little girl and John wanted her, even though she didn’t trust him, he already wanted her so much that it ached. _’I want her Sherlock...We killed her parents and I want her. I know it is sick but I cannot help myself.’_

 _’Why is it sick? Her biological parents were abusive, we did not know they had a daughter when we executed them, and she chose to follow US and not find another place to stay. Who else would know the best way to care for her without traumatizing her?’_ Sherlock trailed his fingers down along John’s neck.

 _’I keep bollocksing this up don’t I? And you ask me why I shouldn’t be a parent.’_ John closed in on himself, he wasn’t equipped for this, no matter what Sherlock said. Everything he said, even if he didn’t voice it out loud came out wrong. He squirmed out of Sherlock’s lap. “I’m just going to take a shower, be back in a moment.”

 _’John? What did I say that was wrong?’_ Sherlock looked at his mate in worry and honest confusion.

Victoria’s own expression was an interesting mirror of Sherlock’s.

 _’You didn’t say anything wrong love, it’s all me.’_ John leaned down and kissed his mate. “I just need a few minutes on my own, I’ll be right back.”

Sherlock watched him go, brow knit in lingering confusion. He didn’t believe for once second that he hadn’t said something wrong. He obviously _had_ if John was running and that was exactly what his mate was doing, running.

Victoria frowned and waited until she couldn’t take the thickening in the air anymore and then she hopped off the couch and went to wait outside the bathroom door, much to Sherlock’s surprise.

John undressed and got in the shower, letting the hot water beat down on his body. He leaned against the tiled wall. Gods he was a mess, he didn’t deserve such a wonderful mate as Sherlock, he really didn’t but he couldn’t give him up either. He showered quickly and toweled himself off. John dressed in his pyjama trousers and an old worn t-shirt. He opened the door and his eyes widened at the little girl sitting outside the door. “Oh, hello there lovely.” He crouched next to Victoria. “What are you doing here, sitting on the floor sweetie?”

She lifted a cautious hand and tapped him over the heart, “Why’re you sad?”

“What?” He looked down at her tiny and too thin hand on his chest. “I’m not sad, promise I’m not. Just needed to get clean, just as you needed to bathe.”

She frowned at him, stubbornness in her eyes. She knew what she saw and she knew what she felt from other people. It was why she was still alive. “Lies are bad. They hurt you and him.”

“You are right; lies are very, very bad.” John stayed crouched next to Victoria. “I am not lying though.” He held out his arms and scooped the little girl up in his arms. “Let’s get you back to the living room where it’s warm and cozy, you shouldn’t be here on the floor.”

“You are too. I can feel it. You’re sad.” She folded her arm across her chest in a sulk.

“Don’t pull the pout at me young lady; I have someone in my life that does it so much better than you.” John tickled her side. “I am not sad, promise I’m not. What can I do to convince you?”

“Stop feeling bad.” She shoved his hand away then returned to her pouting.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice rumbled from the living room, “Your phone just went off. Text alert.”

“Oh?” John’s brow furrowed as he carried the stubborn little girl into the living room. It seemed it was his lot in life to be surrounded by people more stubborn than he was. “What does the text say? I am not expecting anyone to contact me now.” Since he had gone to work for Mycroft he didn’t have many unexpected calls or texts.

“I don’t know, your phone is in your jacket.” And Sherlock was in his thinking pose on the couch, meaning that the odds of him getting up to check John’s phone were very, very low.

John snorted and put Victoria down on Sherlock’s stomach and walked over to fetch his phone. He opened the message from Anthea and frowned at the subject line that simply said ‘Robin’. John scrolled down his contact list until he could press Anthea’s number and put the phone to his ear. She had to remember that he wasn’t a genius like Sherlock or her employer, he actually needed words to understand what was going on.

“Good you did call.” Anthea’s voice was businesslike and brisk, “I’ve some information about the little orphaned bird you and Sherlock have picked up.”

“I usually call back when someone is trying to reach me.” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am very grateful for any information about our little robin though.” 

“Her parents were members of an...organization of vampires who dabble in magic. As you likely know that does not, as a rule, go over well. Metaphysical abilities in a vampire are almost unheard of. However this sect has been aiming to change that for quite some time. Long enough that it affected some of its members on certain levels to the point that the sect leader had hopes that a next generation would display obvious abilities. To date only one child has survived gestation and birth. Your little robin was written off after her first birthday as...well written off we’ll leave it at that. In correctly according to my sources.”

“Buggering bastards.” John threw a look at Sherlock and Victoria, knowing that he shouldn’t use bad language in front of the little girl. He held the phone to his ear and walked into his and Sherlock’s bedroom, closing the door behind him. “I don’t give a shite what kind of mumbo, jumbo they were into. No one has the right to treat a child the way they did. Victoria is much too thin, scared and untrusting, littered with bruises and scars and living on stray rats. It’s wrong, no matter what species you belong to, no one has the right to treat a child like that.”

“Victoria? Mm, I’ll have her file amended.” There was the sound of shuffling papers over the line, “You sound as if you think I condone what was done. I can assure you John, I do not. However you should know that my best sources believe that she does, in fact, have an ability. The first vampire since Dracula to have an ability independent from another. According to my sources she may very well be an empath, the degree to her empathy is unknown however.”

That made a lot of sense, poor little girl, not only had she been terribly mistreated but she could pick up on the emotions of the ones abusing her as well. "I don't believe that you condone Anthea, I was just venting. I can tell you one thing though, the council are not getting their hands on Victoria, that will happen over my dead body." John didn't think he would shorten Victoria's name again even in his own mind. Maybe it was lazy, he had never thought about it that way before. Harriet had always been Harry to him and his grandmother had been gammy his whole life.

“Of course they won’t. The council wouldn’t know, my sources are outside vampire networking. I’ve already arranged the paperwork for her guardianship in any case. Just guardianship at this point however if you and Sherlock would like to formally adopt her at some further junction that will easily be arranged.”

“Thank you Anthea.” John sat down on the edge of their bed. “Do you have her exact age there in your folder?” John already wanted her but adoption, that would have to be discussed with Sherlock and with Victoria, that would only happen if she wanted to stay.

“Five years, four months, and two days. I’ll send more blood over in the morning, specially drawn for a vampire child. Growing girl, different nutritional needs.”

“Again thank you, what would we do without you?” He fiddled a little holding the phone. “Let us know if you need anything or if there are anymore disturbances concocted to rise in power while Mycroft is indisposed.”

“Of course. Luckily tomorrow afternoon Lord Holmes will return to his post so I doubt you’ll need to be called. Have a good evening John, and a warning from my sisters, Stop doubting your capabilities, you have more inside you than you can imagine.”

John couldn’t help but smile at that despite the warning. “I’ll do my best. I should let you get back to keeping watch over the empire now, thank you for calling...Well thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome John. Goodnight.” She clicked off decisively.

He placed the phone in his trouser pocket and stayed seated on the bed for a little while, looking out over the shadowed bedroom. Their lives would definitely change with a little girl to take care of but somewhere deep inside; John couldn’t help but to feel that they were ready for it. He got up from the bed and walked back out to the living room to rejoin his family.

_**To be continued…** _


	22. Part Twenty-Two

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; Sherlock and John continue to get acquainted with Victoria and Mycroft and Greg emerge from their bonding to find out that they are now uncles.._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-Two._ **

Sherlock looked over when John came back into the room, the little girl who’d decided to stretch out on her back over him like he was on the couch doing the same. “Well?”

John smiled at the picture they made together on the couch. _’The parents belonged to a group of vampires dabbling in magic. Victoria was written off as a failure but Anthea says she’s an empath, unknown how strong but an empath none the less. She’s five years and four months and Anthea has done the paperwork making us her guardians.’_ He walked over and sat down in his chair. “More blood will come tomorrow morning, special vampire child nutritious blood.”

“Ah good.” He brought his hand down to catch Victoria when he curious squirming would have had her falling off, “Careful.”

She turned onto her side on top of Sherlock, pulling the blanket tighter around herself and settling with a big yawn.

 _’Maybe I should sleep in my old bedroom tonight. She shouldn’t be stuck up there alone her first night and she trusts you.’_ John leaned back in his chair. “I think it’s bedtime for little girls now.”

 _’You are not sleeping alone in your old room John. I refuse to allow that. My bed is more than big enough for the three of us to sleep in.’_ He sat up, arms shifting Victoria so she was held securely as they stood, “It’s also bedtime for doctors wouldn’t you say Victoria?”

She nodded sleepily and stared at John in silent, grumpy demand.

“Oh gods, I’ll never be able to have my way again, not when there is two of you.” John shook his head in mock dismay. “Fine, this doctor will go to bed as well.” He rose from his seat and looked at the two vampires. “We’ll just brush our teeth first, even tiny fangs need dental hygiene.”

She looked utterly confused and looked up at Sherlock.

“Never brushed your teeth before?” He continued after she shook her head, “We’ll show you, it’s simply a way to keep your teeth clean and healthy.” He carried her to the bathroom, John just behind them, and set her on the sink.

John followed them and crouched down by a cabinet to get out a new toothbrush still in its pack. He opened it, put a dollop of toothpaste on it, ran it under water and handed it to the little girl. Then he grabbed his own toothbrush. “Like this.” John began to brush his teeth, seeing Victoria watch him carefully.

Victoria looked from him to the toothbrush she held skeptically. She wasn’t sure about this.

Sherlock began brushing his own teeth, lowering his fangs and holding his mouth open so the girl could see how he brushed them so as not to slice off bristles from the brush on the sharp edges. He spat out some foam so he could talk, “Just don’t swallow the toothpaste and it’ll be fine.”

John suppressed a shiver at the sight of Sherlock’s fangs, it was really, really wrong to find them so erotic, especially when there was a five year old girl in the room. He spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth out with water. “Just give it a try, start small and get a feel for it.” John didn’t want to overwhelm Victoria but at the same time she needed to be exposed to normality...Or his and Sherlock’s version of it anyway.

She pursed her lips and decided to try. Wrinkling her nose at the taste of the toothpaste as well as the odd feeling of using bristles on her teeth, she tentatively scrubbed, mimicking Sherlock and John as well as intuitively brushing all of her teeth and not just the visible ones. It made sense after all, considering that Sherlock had told her it was to clean teeth, that it was not just certain teeth but all teeth.

Sherlock finished brushing, spit the toothpaste out, and used his own mouthwash to rinse and gargle, getting a giggle from Victoria at the sound.

John smiled at the sound of Victoria’s giggle; he hoped to hear much more of her laughter in the future. He also smiled at how wonderful Sherlock was with her, he knew his mate’s amazingness but it still made him fall even more helplessly in love with the man. “You are doing brilliantly Victoria, a pro already.”

Things didn’t feel sad anymore and it had her relaxing again, enough to lean over and spit out the toothpaste foam with a little ‘phoo’ and accept the cup of water she was told to rinse her mouth out with like Sherlock had. She didn’t gargle, afraid she’d choke on the water, but she swished the water around in her mouth, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s before spitting it into the basin.

“There you go.” John handed her a towel so that she could wipe her mouth and then he lifted her down from the sink. “All fresh and clean and ready for bed.” He reached out and took Sherlock’s hand, bringing it to his lips for a light kiss. _’I love you.’_

Sherlock smiled and chose to lean in and brush his lips over John’s. _’I love you too John.’_

Reaching down John took Victoria’s tiny hand in his free one and walked with his family to the bedroom. 

Sherlock lifted Victoria up onto the bed and went to get his pajamas, stepping out of sight to put them on.

Victoria looked around the huge bed and poked at it. it was big and soft and nothing like where she normally slept.

John raised a hand and covered a yawn, suddenly realizing how tired he was. He still hadn’t eaten anything but he wasn’t hungry, just beat. He pulled the coverlet down and fluffed up the pillows before climbing into the bed next to Victoria. If you need anything or if you can’t sleep, just poke me or Sherlock and we’ll do our best to help you.”

Sherlock came back in, wearing the blue silk pajamas, and slid in on Victoria’s other side. He met the curious, slightly cautious green eyes, tucked the blanket in closer around her, “Seconded. If you need something we will be happy to assist.” Then he lay down, back to her and John so as not to make her feel like she would be grabbed in the middle of the night.

John stayed on his back, even though his shoulder didn’t bother him any longer the time spent unable to sleep on his side had stuck and now he didn’t feel comfortable in that sleep position. Not unless he was curled up against Sherlock, then he could sleep in any position at all. “Goodnight both Sherlock and Victoria, sleep well.” 

“Go to sleep John. You run into things when you don’t have the appropriate amount of rest.” Sherlock’s voice was amused, “Unless you want to give Victoria a morning show.”

The girl’s lips twitched and she closed her eyes, feeling safe.

John stayed quiet other than an amused huff of breath and closed his eyes. Even with the addition of a tiny girl in their bed it wasn’t long at all until he drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock stayed awake until both John and Victoria’s breathing evened out into sleep patterns. It took Victoria longer than John but she did drop off eventually and Sherlock followed after. Tomorrow would be an interesting to say the least.

 

~oOo~

 

Greg slipped up behind Mycroft as he was tying his tie and saw the look on his face in the mirror. “Hey, I’d like longer too but at least Anthea managed to give us three days right?”

“A wonder that she managed that.” Mycroft agreed. Still he would have liked more time with Greg, just the two of them. Sadly he knew he had to get back to his position as Master of Britain. “How are you feeling?”

He took personal inventory, nothing hurt though any aches had faded after the first five hours, he wasn’t tired, and he felt on balance. The last had taken a while; the new senses had overwhelmed him a little until Mycroft had helped him learn how to use them. “I’m good. How about you baby?” He kissed the back of Mycroft’s neck affectionately.

“Perfectly healthy and sane.” He raised an eyebrow and met Greg’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m not the one who’s been under the strain of changing.” Mycroft did not really look forward of stepping into his public persona again but it was who he was, who he had been raised to be. 

“Nope but you’re the one losing more blood here since I have to nibble on you more than you do me remember?” He just smiled and took care not to wrinkle Mycroft’s clothes as he wrapped his arms around him, “Really though I’m fine. Checked my phone and apparently I’m off for another eleven days as standard for a change, I figure I’ll see if Thomas minds giving me extra training over that time in fighting with the claws and what have you.” Mycroft had already thoroughly educated him in his strength and reflexes so he was good there.

Mycroft was very relieved to hear that Greg had additional time off. Though his mate was amazing he could use the time to acclimate. “Good idea, Thomas is excellent at close range combat, he will be able to teach you a lot.” He leaned back against Greg, taking in the closeness of his mate, hoping it would carry him through the day until his duties were done and he could indulge himself in touching his mate again. “Ready to get back out there in the real world?”

“It’ll always pale in comparison to being sequestered with you but yeah.” He nuzzled at Mycroft’s neck affectionately then let him go. “Let’s see what Anthea has for you.”

“Ah yes, I suppose we must.” He turned and kissed Greg properly before straightening his suit and walking over to the door to their quarters, unlocking and opening it. 

Anthea was waiting outside the office, a file in hand, and as they approached she nodded at Greg, “Lieutenant Lestrade, you’ll need to join us for the first issue I think.” She handed the file to Mycroft and opened the office door.

Mycroft flipped the file opened and read it as he walked, his face growing grimmer and grimmer with every word. “How dare they?” Mycroft was well aware of the price of having a position of power but this was taking it too far. It was completely unacceptable and Mycroft was not going to take it lying down. Oh no, this time they would find out just who they were messing with.

Greg sat on his corner of the desk and reached out, covering Mycroft’s hand with his, “They who? And what did they dare that’s got you looking like you’re about to bring down the wrath of God?”

He handed the file over to Greg, his claws slid out reflexively at his anger but he forced them back. Mycroft needed to keep his temper in check if he was to be able to really tear the bloody council members apart. Icy anger was much better than explosive anger when it came to this.

Greg read over the file, his face hardening and eyes narrowing but other than that he didn’t react, “Anthea is it the entire council or just certain members?”

She passed a second file over to Mycroft, “Sherlock sent that this morning, the culprits are Councilmen DuLac and Debinworth and Councilwoman Fraiche. All the others appear to unaware of it.”

“Young stupid council members. I should have ripped DuLac and Debinworth’s throats out when they were first here. Fraiche just followed Mother around, licking her boots and agreeing to everything she said. Pathetic woman.” Mycroft tapped his fingers against the wood of his desk, his claws itching to slide out again. “Will you please get the helicopter ready Anthea? I believe it is time for me to pay the council a visit.”

“For _us_ to pay them a visit,” Greg set the file down and took Mycroft’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb over his pulse point, “Don’t argue baby, you won’t win this one because if you try to leave without me, I’ll just follow you.”

“Stubborn, stubborn man.” Mycroft huffed out a sigh. He did not want Greg in a room full of older vampires. Greg was strong and brave but he was still a newborn and Mycroft’s enemies would go directly for his mate, thinking, quite in error, that he would be Mycroft’s weakness. Greg would follow him though if Mycroft left him behind, he had no doubt about that. If Greg was at his side then he would at least know exactly where he was and have a chance to protect him. “Very well, we will bring Thomas and Natalia as well.” 

“Works for me,” he leaned in and kissed Mycroft full on the mouth, “And of course I’m stubborn, I’ve dealt with you, Sherlock, and John for ages now. Pure self preservation to be stubborn.” He pulled back.

“While you’re in Vienna, perhaps you might pick up some child accessories once you finish with the council.” Anthea smiled as they both turned to her, confused looks on their faces.

Mycroft blinked and let his eyes travel over her slender form. “Are you trying to tell us that you are in a delicate condition? Should we offer our congratulations?” Mycroft was stunned and his first thought was what he would do to survive if Anthea had to go on maternity leave.

“Hardly,” she scoffed, “No for your new niece.” She was enjoying the vague look of horror on Mycroft’s face she had to admit.

“Okay how did we acquire a niece?” Greg lifted a brow at her.

“Sherlock and John have adopted, for lack of a better word, a five year old vampire child.”

“We are absent for three days and the world turn on its head. _Three days_ , how can Sherlock and John even have found a five year old vampire child to adopt in that time?” The thought of Sherlock as a parent was not as worrying as it would have been just a few years ago. Sherlock was still Sherlock but he was whole now and he had John. Mycroft reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache blooming behind his temples.

“Her biological parents were a couple of the attempted usurpers that Sherlock and John took out; she followed them back to Baker Street. Her file is underneath the one Sherlock sent.” Anthea watched as Greg pulled the file out and read it, fury burning briefly in his eyes before he passed it to Mycroft.

The reading material did not make his headache any better. No child should be treated like this girl had been and it was very worrying that there were vampires experimenting with magic and on children right under his nose without him knowing about it. It looked as if it was time to tighten the reins on Britain at least. Mycroft had no desires to become a tyrant but there were things that were not tolerated and he would make sure it was widely known. His heart ached a little when he saw the name attached to the file. Victoria, of course Sherlock would suggest that name. Hopefully this Victoria would grow up just as kind and as brave as her namesake.

Greg moved his hand to rub at the back of Mycroft’s neck, “Victoria huh? Pretty name.”

“According to the transcript of the flat surveillance, Sherlock suggested several names before Victoria, going through as many British Queens as he could and all of them were in some way vetoed by the girl until he suggested Victoria.”

Greg chuckled, “I think John’s going to find himself going crazy. Sounds like this little lady might be just as stubborn as Sherlock.”

“Indeed.”

“I think John will be capable of handling it, after all no one can handle Sherlock the way he can, hopefully it will work with a miniature version of him as well.” Mycroft was mind-boggled over the fact that he had a niece. Now he wanted to get this Council business over as quickly as he could so he could meet the little girl, get to know her and spoil her. “Victoria was the name of a girl in our village, Sherlock loved her like a mother and even though she was a mere human she stood in front of Sherlock as a shield when Father tried to kill him.” 

“Hm, well if she _is_ an empath she’d have felt the emotional connection to the name, better to have a name that’s already regarded with affection when dealing with new people.” He smiled, “Smart little poppet, can’t wait to meet her.”

Mycroft nodded. “I look forward to it as well. I hope we will be able to do so as soon as we have wrapped up this unpleasant business regarding the Council.” With a niece he had one more person to protect and protect his precious ones he would. “We will take the helicopter to the airport where the jet will be waiting.”

“Well what are we waiting for then,” Greg hopped off the desk. He was hiding his anger at the weird sect of vampires aiming for magic and at the three council members’ little machinations well but he definitely wasn’t happy that someone was trying to screw with his mate’s territory. He _really_ didn’t like it. And he liked even less that someone was hurting kids in the name of stupid hoodoo. When he got back to work there were going to be some new cases he’d be pitching for.

Mycroft got up from his seat and walked over to grab a long outer coat and his ever trusted umbrella. “I am sorry to keep leaning on you like this Anthea but will you handle things on this end while we are away?”

“Sir it’s not like you to ask stupid questions.” She stood up, attention on her phone, “The jet is already fueled and ready, Thomas and Natalia are waiting in the helicopter, and a weapons kit is waiting for each of you on the jet. The squads are patrolling in case of any idiots attempting to take advantage, and I have rescheduled your meetings for next week.”

He nodded his thank you to her and opened the office door, leading Greg up to the roof where the helicopter platform was. Mycroft greeted Thomas and Natalia as he climbed inside, he was glad to have them at his and Greg’s back, he trusted the two of them completely.

“Weel now, shall we?”

Greg buckled himself in, “Hit it Scotsman.”

Thomas practically cackled and lifted off. He enjoyed knowing they were about to go and kick some tight assed council twits in the bollocks.

Mycroft leaned back in his seat and tried to center himself, as angry as he was he needed to be calm when facing the Council. If he barged in angry it would only give the responsible ones fodder against him. He crossed his legs and leaned his umbrella against his seat.

_**To be continued…** _


	23. Part Twenty-Three

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; a very Mystrade chapter. Mycroft and Greg deals with the council and Mycroft ruins a suit._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-Three._ **

The council was in full session when Mycroft and Greg arrived, the head councilwoman mediating a debate between DuLac and a Russian councilman.

“It needs to be contained DuLac, not used. The hunters created it to annihilate an entire species, not so vampires could use it to cow the weres into submission.”

“The weres should know exactly who is at the top of the food chain. They have been taking too many liberties as of late, taking more and more of vampire territory as their own.” 

“Funny _you_ should say such a thing Mr. DuLac.” Mycroft did not bother with niceties as he shouldered the door to the Council room open and stepped inside. “Taking liberties and claiming territory not yours, it seems very familiar to me.”

Greg scanned the room, all the council members and their guards, taking note of who stiffened then relaxed and who remained on the offensive. He stayed just half a step behind Mycroft’s right.

The Russian turned and gave a sharp respectful bow to them that was soon echoed by most of the council. Excepting a certain three. 

The head councilwoman remained standing but gestured the rest back into their seats, “Lord Holmes. What brings you here so soon after your mating?”

“My mating is the reason I am here, or rather the actions caused by my three day absence.” Mycroft walked until he stood next to the head councilwoman. “As I mated and bonded, some people thought it would be an excellent time to rise in power and claim the title of Master of Britain.” He let his eyes travel over Fraiche, DuLac and Debinworth. “I am here to tell you that I accept your challenge. Please do step down and let us have it out.” His smile was cold enough to freeze an ocean.

Debinworth turned a bit paler but otherwise appeared composed, “That is a ridiculous accusation. Perhaps your mating is not a prudent thing as paranoia is a sign of instability.”

Greg held his tongue but he narrowed his eyes and pinned the idiot with a glare, aware that Thomas and Natalia were doing much the same.

Mycroft kept his eyes locked on Debinworth as he reached inside his coat and pulled out the folders Sherlock had sent over and placed them before the head councilwoman. “Mr. Debinsworth, every time you open your mouth you astound me with your insipid stupidity. Do you really believe that I would come here without proof? You are not nearly as good at covering your tracks as you think you are. My brother had no problems discovering yours, Mr. DuLac and Miss. Fraiche’s involvement. I believe you know of my brother, Sherlock Holmes.”

“That is not proof.” DuLac was growing red in the face and he licked his lips nervously. “Everyone is aware that your brother is insane, he should have been put down as a danger centuries ago.”

“Be very, very careful with your words. Sherlock is your better by far and adding slander to your list of transgressions will not help your cause.” Mycroft’s voice grew sharper as his eyes pinned DuLac to the wall.

The head councilwoman looked through the files with admirable calm, “Negative opinions about Lord Holmes’ younger brother aside, there is complete factual data in these files, backed up by discs of arranged meetings and the source of a leak from this very council, traceable back to you, Councilman Debinworth. Other provable and factual data is on your involvement Councilman DuLac, and on Councilwoman Fraiche’s arrangement of assassins, which have been executed already.” She lifted her head, “Unless you can provide incontrovertible proof as to your innocence, Lord Holmes’ challenge stands and your guards are to stand down or be brought down by the other council guards.”

DuLac licked his lips again and his eyes darted around the room, looking for any sort of support from his fellow council members. “You must see that Britain is no longer in capable hands with Holmes as Master. He mates a mere human, his brother has mated a _hunter_. He will bring Britain down. We did it for the best of vampires all over the world. I for one find it a very strange coincidence that both of Holmes’ parents had to be taken down just as their views did not meld with Holmes’. I suggest he killed them or had them killed to promote his own position.” 

“Now tha’ is a dirty lie an’ ya know it.” Thomas spoke out strongly, “Ya werena there fer either time young pup. Ya werena even alive when Sieger went mad wi’ bloodfever and slaughtered an entire town.”

Before DuLac could retort Greg spoke up, keeping his tone calm and firm, “And I, as a human member of the Underground Guardians, am the one who took out Violet Holmes during her attempt to murder a restrained John Watson, a hunter who has never actively hunted any Underground member nor joined a hunter guild and in addition chose to separate from his clan and join the RAMC. And I’m not human any more as you well know so your attempt at logic is very, very thin and shaky.”

DuLac looked around desperately now. “Do you not see what he is doing? Manipulating all of you? If we want Britain to flourish as in its glory days, Holmes’ needs to be removed from his position as Master.” 

“And I have given you an opportunity to do just that.” Mycroft twirled his umbrella leisurely. “I have accepted your challenge, fight me and take me down on your own merit and Britain will be yours.”

“O’ course we all know ya won’ do tha’ will ya? Because ya know Lord Holmes will take ya down faster than ya c’n blink.”

The Russian vampire who’d been arguing with DuLac leaned back, a smirk on his face and arms folded across his chest, “Accept the challenge DuLac, or admit your wrongdoing and step down from your seat.”

The head councilwoman nodded, “That is our laws. You have challenged and been challenged Councilman DuLac, win the challenge or forfeit and face the punishment for your actions.”

Shaking with rage and fear, DuLac tried to catch Debinworth and Fraiche’s eyes but when he failed to do so he eventually bowed his head and stepped down from his seat. He wasn’t fool enough to enter a one on one fight to the death with Mycroft Holmes. “I forfeit.”

Mycroft twirled his umbrella again and turned to the other two co-conspirators. “And you?”

Fraiche stands and lifts her chin, “I accept the challenge.”

Greg shakes his head at the almost insane gleam in her eye. Thomas tsks and Natalia snorts.

“Yes, I imagine that you would Miss. Fraiche.” Mycroft nearly smiled. “I am ready when you are. Tell me...Is your tongue lacking work now that you no longer have my mother’s boots to lick? Sadly that was the only thing of hers she allowed you to lick, isn’t that so?”

The female vampire hissed at him, fangs prominently displayed but otherwise made no reply. 

The head councilwoman looks at Mycroft, “Lord Holmes if you will please pass your umbrella to one of your companions. As Miss Fraiche is unarmed so too should you be.”

“Of course.” Mycroft nodded and handed the umbrella over to Natalia, along with his outer coat. “I comply with all rules of an official challenge.” He would not need weapons to take down Fraiche, she was clever and old but her obsession with his mother would lead to her downfall.

As soon as he’d stepped into the circle and they’d been given the nod, Fraiche lunged, claws sweeping out in a frankly embarrassing swat that had Greg, Thomas, and Natalia rolling their eyes.

“And you wonder why my mother would not let you touch her, dear Miss. Fraiche, you are an embarrassment to our species.” Mycroft sidestepped her calmly and was behind her in an instant, his clawed hand gripping her throat tightly. “I must thank you though, I admit that I am quite partial to this suit and would not have liked to see it wrinkled.”

“Le Monstre,” one hand tried to claw back behind her to rip his eyes out.

“Yes well, we cannot all be saints.” Mycroft caught her flailing hand with his free one and twisted it back until the bone snapped. “Do you recognize that I have won?”

She cuts her scream short and struggles, cursing at him in French before shifting and driving the heel of her shoe down into the arch of his foot, the stiletto heel piercing through the leather and into his flesh.

It hurt, Mycroft couldn’t deny that but he made sure not to change his expression at all. “I will take that as a no. Give my regards to Mother when you see her in hell.” He let his claws slide into soft skin of her neck and ripped her throat out. It seemed his suit would be ruined after all.

None of the others in the room so much as flinched, not even Greg. He couldn’t, not when the woman had obviously been crazier than a shithouse rat and intent on hurting Mycroft in one way or another.

Thomas folded his arms over his chest, “Twa oot, and tha last?” He cocked a questioning brow at Debinworth.

Mycroft let the body drop and pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his bloodied hand carefully. He raised his brow and looked at Debinworth expectantly. “Please Mr. Debinworth, I am all awash with anticipation for your decision.” 

Greg noted the chicken necked idiot glancing between him and Mycroft and began to get a bad feeling. Which was confirmed when the moron spoke up thickly.

“I believe you were a better Master before the entrance of the human,” he looked pointedly at Greg, “Therefore my challenge is not against you but against Gregory Lestrade.”

Greg could hear Thomas and Natalia snarling at Debinworth as the council room practically exploded in denial. The only one remaining silent was the head councilwoman.

“The moment you and your ‘colleagues’ sent assassins and tried to usurp me you challenged _me_. I have not yet even mentioned the dabbling in magic and experiments on vampire children.” Mycroft was seething. “You Mr. Debinworth have no right to challenge anyone until you have fought me.”

“I did not join in on the plan until after it became clear that you intended to mate and change the human. My quarrel is with him, therefore I challenged before you but it is him I challenged. Back in your home.”

The head councilwoman spoke up from where she was reading over the files, “He is correct Lord Holmes. His challenge directly to your mate in your home makes his case and there is no proof of his direct involvement in the territorial infractions until after you were mated and Lieutenant Lestrade was undergoing the change. Unless your mate forfeits, thus allowing Councilman Debinworth a boon, it is a valid and prior challenge.”

Mycroft’s nostrils flared. He hated this, absolutely hated it but there was nothing he could do. Not without breaking the laws himself. Greg would not forfeit, he didn’t know the meaning of the word. He looked over at met his mate’s eyes.

Greg murmured in a low aside to Thomas so only the old enforcer would hear, “There any rule about postponing a fight when a vastly older vampire challenges a newborn?”

“Nay lad, if yer gonna accept, ya haveta fight now.”

“Any tips?”

“Lad I’ve been trainin’ you at vampire level fer weeks now, ya only lack advance knowledge in how ta fight wi’ tha claws.”

“Right,” he straightened and walked forward into the circle to hook a hand behind Mycroft’s neck and pull him in for a kiss, “If I get in trouble I’ll yield, how’s that?”

“You better.” Mycroft was nearly growling and he leaned forward to claim his mate’s lips again. “His right knee has an old injury caused in a fight with a were, he favors it.” He didn’t tell Greg to be careful but if something were to happen to his mate, Mycroft would wade through the blood of the entire council to save him, laws be damned.

“You are a bad, bad man Mycroft Holmes and I love it.” He nipped at his bottom lip before pulling back. “Alright you, into the stands while I wipe the floor with the moron.”

Glaring death and destruction at Debinworth, Mycroft reluctantly walked up to the stands to stand next to Natalia and Thomas. He abhorred that his mate had to fight mere days after his change but he hoped Greg would rip the smug bastard apart.

Greg cocked his head and looked up at Debinworth, who was looking shocked, “Well? You challenged, I’ve accepted so get your arse down here unless you’re planning on forfeiting your own challenge.”

The older vampire snapped to glaring attention and came into the circle, “You are foolish to accept. A newborn has no chance against one of my age.”

“Hate to tell you ace but age doesn’t mean much considering I know humans who could take your whingy arse down hard.”

It was an insult and registered as such as the circle closed and they got the nod.

Greg let himself be circled, calmly watching Debinworth, counting the steps and noting the rhythm of them until he lunged. Greg dropped, rolling and lashing out with a foot, catching the bum knee with his heel and forcing it to bend backwards before he rolled back to his feet as his opponent howled in pain.

Thomas smiled, seeing exactly where Lestrade was going. He was going to win without going clawed or fanged to make a point that not only way Mycroft stable, so was Lord Holmes’ mate.

Mycroft was still anxious but he was also proud as hell over his mate. He’d known that Greg was spectacular since the moment they met and this was just further proof that he’d been right. Gods he loved that man.

Greg met the hostile glare leveled at him evenly with a big grin showing not even a hint of fang and wiggled his unclawed fingers, the complete opposite of the claws and fangs Debinworth was showing prominently. He watched the older vampire pop his knee back into place and make a limping charge. He grabbed the wrist of the clawed hand that swept out and flipped him over his back, wrenching the arm and dislocating Debinworth’s shoulder. He threw him across the circle so he slammed into the table. 

Debinworth spun and charged again, more carefully this time, managing to get a rake across Greg’s ribs that caught mostly cloth and just barely nicked the skin in two places.

He paid for it though, because Greg slammed a fist into Debinworth’s own ribs hard enough that the crack of them breaking was heard throughout the room. He followed that up with an elbow to the back and a knee to the gut. He spun Debinworth around so that his neck was pinned between Greg’s boot and the edge of the table, his arms held in an unyielding grip behind him. “Do you yield?”

Debinworth would be an idiot not to yield. Greg held him in a grip he would not be able to get out of. Still all of Debinworth’s actions had proved that he was indeed a moron so Mycroft could not predict what his answer would be. Once they were home though, Mycroft wanted to undress his mate and lick him from head to toe. Mycroft had always been attracted to power and the power that his mate displayed in the ring already had his blood simmering.

Debinworth made an uncomfortable gurgle, blood trickling up from where his broken ribs had punctured a lung and nodded, “I yield.”

Greg let him go and turned to walk out of the circle as it opened. He could see the gleam in Mycroft’s eyes and gave him a return smile.

Behind him Debinworth coughed and staggered to his feet before running at Greg’s back and drawing a green coated knife from where it had been hidden inside his boot.

Greg saw Mycroft’s eyes widen, heard the footsteps and turned just in time to keep from being cut with the blade. He grabbed Debinworth’s head and wrenched, separating it from his shoulders with nothing but physical strength and a twist.

Even Thomas was speechless as Debinworth’s headless body clattered to the floor and Greg dropped the head next to it.

Mycroft was down the stairs in an instant, not caring about appearances at all. He pulled Greg close and kissed him with Debinworth’s body lying at their feet. When he finally pulled away he turned to the head councilwoman. “I believe all challenges have been met according to the rules of the council. If anyone questions my choice in a mate again I will see them burn.”

“Lord Holmes after your mate’s incredible display of skill and control I sincerely doubt that anyone who remains here would be so foolish. Even Mr. DuLac though he is no longer council,” she nodded at the pale and queasy looking vampire being held in restraints by council guards.

The Russian stood from his seat and gave Mycroft and Greg a salute, “My congratulations Lord Holmes, on your mating to a most worthy warrior.” His sentiment was echoed one by one across the entire council.

“I already knew his worth without a display like this one.” Mycroft’s tone was still cool. He didn’t need the council’s approval to know that he had won the jackpot with Greg. “I will put in a request though that the council screen their members better in the future and that every action is taken to stop the experiments going on with vampire children. We all know how precious and few they are.” Born vampires were becoming a rare thing. The challenges might have been won but Mycroft still was not happy with the council and how they had dealt with matters, he wanted them to know that.

The head councilwoman nodded, “It will be dealt with Lord Holmes.” She’d been pushing to have it dealt with for some time now but continually meeting opposition. This incident would hopefully lower that opposition. “If you wish to remain in Vienna for the night I can offer you lodgings in my villa.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, it is appreciated but we will be going home. I have been away from my work for three days. I should get back.” There were slight acid in his tone, Mycroft still thought three days were too little but he would not argue about it. He just wanted to go home. 

“Of course. I apologize for the disruption in your settling with your mate Lord Holmes. I would offer an escort out but I doubt that would be necessary.”

Greg, slung his arm around Mycroft’s waist, “Very much not. Come on you, we both need to change and pick up those things for Sherlock and John before we head home.” Ignoring protocol and anything else, he steered Mycroft out of the council room, Thomas and Natalia following them.

Mycroft didn’t protest at all, he just followed where Greg led him, even going as far as leaning against his mate as they walked out without a polite word of goodbye. “So what would a five year old girl want?” If left to his own devices Mycroft would probably load up on princess dresses and for some reason he couldn’t see any child raised by his brother and John as a girly girl in ruffled dresses...One or two couldn’t hurt though could it? “She’ll need an entire wardrobe of course, playthings, a bed and matching furniture...Perhaps those things that girls put in their hair.” 

Greg laughed, “Just a few surprises for now baby. I think John and Sherlock and Victoria should do the majority of the shopping for her wardrobe and furniture so she can pick out what suits her. We’ll get some toys, a couple of outfits, some little girl appropriate jewelry, and maybe something like a viewmaster filled with slides of the Viennese sights.”

"Oh fine." Mycroft was a little put out not to get to shop everything but he did understand. Of course it should be Sherlock and his family who chose those things. "I like the viewmaster idea." 

“I thought you might,” Greg turned his head and kissed the corner of Mycroft’s mouth, “Change of clothes first though. You’ve got Fraiche’s blood all over you and my shirt’s ruined from that claw swipe.”

"How are your ribs?" Mycroft was suddenly full of concern. "Do you need to feed?" He didn't mention the hole in his foot and he prided himself for not limping. The hole would heal; it would just take little longer since he'd given so much blood to Greg. The only thing that really irked Mycroft was that his hand-sewn leather shoe was ruined too, just like his suit.

“No. Hardly even a knick baby, just like a couple of little cat scratches is all. What about you?” He looked down pointedly, letting Mycroft know that even if he wasn’t limping he was well aware that the injury wasn’t healing as quickly as it normally would. The look carried nothing but that knowing and affection, no scolding. 

"It is fine, I'm fine. Just a ruined £400 shoe." He wiggled his toes sadly. "You are right that we should change though, people tend to get so upset at the sight of blood. Besides, I can't say that I fancy wearing anything of Fraiche's on my person."

“Four hundred pounds for a shoe,” Greg shook his head, “I wonder about the people setting the prices for these things. Anthea anticipated the possibility for a change, so we’ve got extra clothes in the car.”

“Thomas and I will sit up front and raise the privacy glass. You’re bloody sexy Greg but I don’t fancy seeing your arse naked.”

He chuckled, “Good, there’s only one person I want seeing me naked and he’s got a ruined four hundred pound shoe and always carries a brolly.”

"It's a statement." Mycroft raised his pointy nose in the air. "And I do like you Natalia but if you ever fancied ogling my mate's bum, you would suddenly find yourself transferred to the most miserable place on earth." Mycroft's possessiveness had not lessened after the bonding to Greg.

“I’ve got my own mate’s bum to ogle sir and you know the rule about mated bias. His is better to me, just like Tommy boy’s is better to Hettie, though God only knows why. It looks like you put a pair of trousers on a frog and made it stand up.”

Greg burst out laughing, “Oh God that mental image is going to stick with me Nat. Any time someone brings up a frog in conversation I’ll just start laughing.”

“Always happy to bring a little humor in. Ow.” She rubbed the back of her head where Thomas had whacked it.

Mycroft did his best to remain stoic but he was fighting a losing battle. Now that Natalia had planted the image in his head he could only see Thomas the standing frog. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he let them travel over his mate and two of his most trusted employees, if he was totally honest Mycroft could even stretch to call them friends. “Perhaps Thomas has other attributes that Hettie finds more important that a plump bottom and please do not make me think of what those attributes can be since Hettie and frogman here raised me.”

Greg was beaming as they got into the limo; it was good to see his mate so loose and easy, joking not only with him but with others as well. He pulled Mycroft into a playful, half adrenaline fueled kiss once they were all in the limo and the privacy glass had been raised.

Mycroft kissed back, tugging lightly on Greg’s bottom lip with his teeth. “Gods you were magnificent out there, taking down that toad. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, wanted you right there, knowing I was the envy of everyone in the room because you’re mine.”

He flicked his tongue out, under Mycroft’s bottom lip then over the fangs that were still down. “Fangs up baby. We don’t need to scare any counter girls.” One more nipping kiss and he was wiggling away, handing Mycroft a suit bag before pulling his own change of clothes out and stripping off his shirt.

He pulled his fangs in, having failed to notice they were still down. He slipped out of his bloodied suit and looked at it with a sad sigh before putting it in a plastic bag to be disposed of later on. The shoes and socks followed. Mycroft looked at his foot, poking at the wound before taking out a first aid kit and wrapping it up. No reason to ruin another pair of shoes by bleeding in them. After some wiggling and struggling in the limited space of the car he was dressed impeccably once more. “It will be interesting to see what sort of punishment the council will submit DuLac to. He isn’t a council member any longer but I confess that I will not relax completely until I am certain he is not a threat in any way from now on.”

“If they don’t neutralize him and I ever see his smug little face again, I’m taking him out,” He stuffed his torn shirt into the garment bag and grabbed a sterile soaked cleaning pad to wipe away the smeared and dried blood.

Mycroft watched his mate like a hawk until he was satisfied that the scratches weren’t serious. If they had been bad he would have forced Greg to feed. “I will not stop you, in fact I’d be happy to hold him down while you go for the kill.”

“Sounds like a perfect back up plan.” Scratches and blood cleaned up, he shimmied out of his trousers, enjoying the sound Mycroft made upon realizing he wore nothing under them, then into another pair before his mate could pounce. They didn’t have time for pouncing right now. He pulled the t-shirt Anthea had provided out. He had to snicker at the graphic across it that proclaimed he’d kissed a vampire and liked it.

After finally have gotten his brain to work again after seeing that his mate went commando under those deliciously fitting trousers, Mycroft rolled his eyes as he caught sight of the t-shirt. “As brilliant as she is, I worry about Anthea’s sense of humor at times.” His lips were twitching though. 

“Oh you mean it’s a joke. I thought it was truth in advertizing. I did kiss a vampire, and I did like it, enough to be kissed by him forever.” The T-shirt went on and clung like a second skin, “Okay re-thinking the joke now. Jesus why not just paint me over and forgo the shirt all together?”

“I like it.” And indeed he did, Mycroft could actually feel his eyes darken with arousal and his breath speed up. He knew they didn’t have time and this was seriously not the place for any sort of amorous activities but gods how Greg made him _want_. He wondered if it would always be like this, a desire so strong that it was like a kick to the gut. 

Greg quirked a brow, “So I see. And here I thought leather and mesh were better for male lingerie. Apparently really tight tees work too.” His smart mouth was a distraction from the slow burning lust that lit in his belly at the look his mate gave him. 

“Leather I agree with, mesh...mesh is simply gaudy.” Mycroft sniffed, his eyes still roaming over his mate’s body. “You Gregory Lestrade is a truly beautiful man.” The words slipped out before Mycroft could stop them and he felt himself flush lightly. He still wasn’t used to being this open hearted in speech and in thought. “So...where does one go in Vienna to find the best presents for a little girl?”

He reached out and took Mycroft’s hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the inside wrist. “Anthea gave Thomas a list of places, us too but we’re not driving.”

“Ah, so it is a case of sit back and see where he takes us then.” Mycroft smiled a small private smile at his mate and shifted so that he could lace their fingers together. “I’ll trust that Anthea will have steered froggy right. Can you believe it, Sherlock and John as parents? That will be one beloved little girl.”

“Beloved and as overprotected as possible without stifling her freedom.” Greg slid closer to Mycroft so their sides pressed together, their joined hands pulled over to rest on his thigh, “And believe it or not, I always sort of thought Sherlock might become a parent one day.”

Mycroft leaned against his mate. “You’ve always understood him better than I do, once upon a time I was very jealous of my brother. He got your smiles and I only got frowns.” He played with Greg’s fingers. “I do believe though, that Sherlock will be a wonderful father, he understands children.”

“Yeah, especially ones who’ve been through trauma.” He remembered how upset Sherlock had been when the ambassador's kid had screamed at the sight of him. “He and John’ll be the best ones to raise Victoria.”

“Yes, I believe you are right about that.” John was made for caring and nurturing and Sherlock was a greater man than even Mycroft could have imagined. 

“And we get to be the utterly evil uncles who’ll spoil her rotten and send her home,” he gave Mycroft a wicked grin.

Mycroft answered it with one of his own. “Indeed, I do look forward to it, to spoiling her. Would a pony be too much you think? Every child should learn how to ride, it really is a most enjoyable sport.” 

“We’ll look into it once she grows a bit more confident in people. You can’t exactly keep a pony in the flat,” he kissed the tip of Mycroft’s nose, “A cat on the other hand....”

“The pony would stay at the manor of course.” Mycroft scoffed, he actually looked forward to bring Greg to the manor where he had been born and raised. It was a beautiful place and now that the lingering shadows of his parents were gone, it might actually become a home again. “I suppose we can start with a kitten though...A white one.” A special girl should have a special cat.

Greg chuckled. He was going to remember to keep his phone out to record the reactions to that little present. “White and fluffy, not a Persian, what’s that one I’ve seen before,” he closed his eyes and bounced his knee, “Angora I think?”

“Excellent choice.” Mycroft nodded, conjuring up an image of how the Angora cat looked in his mind. “Yes, wonderful choice indeed. Just imagine what it will do to Sherlock’s suits, all that white fur.” Mycroft gave a slightly evil chuckle.

“Ah we’re on the same wavelength here,” he leaned his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, “We have to get her one now.”

“Absolutely, we’ll get it back in Britain though to avoid all the nasty quarantine business.” Mycroft was already fishing out his phone, texting Anthea so that she could find breeders of Angora cats in the London area. 

Greg laughed and leaned in over Mycroft’s shoulder to watch him send the text, “We’ll have to give it a sparkly collar, since it’s going to belong to a little princess.”

Mycroft nodded. “Emerald maybe to match Victoria’s eyes.” He remembered hair and eye color from the file. “Or ruby for her hair. Diamond is too common, it should have color.” He was aware that Greg might not have meant actual gems on the collar but a princess should have the best.

He hadn’t meant real gems but he wasn’t surprised that Mycroft immediately went there. “I am going to enjoy recording Sherlock’s reaction to this so very much. It’s a present to our niece and to us at the same time!” 

Smiling, Mycroft turned his head to kiss Greg’s cheek. “I will enjoy it too.” He snuggled closer to his mate and relaxed against the soft leather seat as Thomas drove them where they should go.

_**To be continued…** _


	24. Part Twenty-Four

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; a fluffy chapter with Greg and Mycroft meeting their niece. Sherlock and John gain yet another family member._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-Four._ **

Sherlock was lying stretched out on the floor next to the couch, string stretching between his hands and around his fingers as he played Cat’s Cradle with Victoria, who was laying belly down on the couch wearing a set of clothes Anthea had sent over along with the blood.

John hummed as he puttered around in the kitchen, making some eggs and toast for breakfast. He couldn’t put off eating any longer, not if he wanted to be able to keep up with his mate and Victoria. While the pan heated on the stove he leaned against the doorway and watched the two of them playing in the living room. Victoria still seemed more comfortable around Sherlock, maybe that was because they were the same, both in species and in spirit.

Victoria’s head came up from where she was studying the string figure and she saw John and gave him a shy smile.

John smiled back, his smile warm and loving. He already loved her smile, loved the way her whole face lit up from the inside out. “Everything okay in here?” He looked at both Victoria and Sherlock.

Sherlock lifted his head up off the floor so he could see John, “Yes, I’d say it’s nearly perfect wouldn’t you Victoria?”

She nodded and made her move, shifting the strings and taking them from Sherlock.

“It just needs one thing yes?”

She nodded again, “Uh-huh. John.”

“Precisely, so hurry up and make your breakfast John then come join us.”

“Bossy.” John grinned at them happily. “Either of you want some breakfast as well?” It was only polite to ask and even though Sherlock and Victoria didn’t need food they could still enjoy it. 

Victoria shook her head, “No thank you.”

Sherlock made his move in the game, “None for me thanks.”

“Kay, the lowly human will feed all on his lonesome then.” John turned around to fry his eggs and make his toast. Of course there would be tea as well; there was no proper breakfast without tea.

“You are not lowly, ever.” Sherlock’s voice carried well into the kitchen, “And I may very well have to spend hours convincing you of that every time you say such a thing.”

It got a giggle from Victoria and a very quiet, “He’s silly.”

“Yes indeed, very silly.”

“I’ll show you silly...Just as soon as I’ve eaten. Nothing wrong with my hearing.” John walked back to the doorway, waving the spatula around like a sword before finishing making his food. He loaded it up on a plate and took his favorite mug and filled it with tea before carrying them into the living room, joining his family as he ate.

“What are you going to do? Smother us in your jumpers?” Sherlock’s voice was heavy with amusement, “Just leave the Christmas jumper out of the pile if you please, it could probably dissolve paint with its hideousness.”

“Oh ha ha, very funny.” John blew his mate a raspberry. “You love my jumpers and you know it, _especially_ the Christmas one.” He took a sip of tea. “I have my ways...For example I know that Sherlock is extremely ticklish over his ribs on his left side.” John winked at Victoria. “And that he purrs if you pet his hair. Purrs like a great big kitty cat.”

“John...” Sherlock trailed off when a tiny, hesitant hand reached out toward his hair and instead of continuing his banter with his mate; he sat up so that Victoria could see if what John said was true. He narrowed his eyes at John before the ‘petting’ got to him and made his eyes half close. Damn his sensitive follicles.

Victoria’s face lit up when Sherlock did, indeed purr.

“See, just like a kitty.” John smiled and gave Victoria a conspiratorial wink. _’Thank you for indulging me love, look at her smile.’_ John sent a wave of utter love and adoration across their bond. 

_’Can’t look. Being pet. Useless for anything else.’_ The laughter that brought out had him smiling as well.

 _’I love you Sherlock.’_ John would never tire of saying, or thinking, those words to his mate. Sherlock should be told how much he was loved every day for the rest of eternity. 

_’Love you too John.’_ Sherlock’s smile softened in deep affection before his phone’s text alert went off. “Ugh, if it’s Gregson or anyone from the Yard tell them I’m busy, very busy, and will likely remain so for the foreseeable future.”

Victoria giggled again. When he complained Sherlock was so _funny_.

John rolled his eyes but did put his plate and mug down on the sofa table to go get Sherlock’s phone. “Since it was your phone that chimed you could in all actuality tell whomever it is yourself you know.” He found Sherlock’s phone and looked at the screen. 

‘Greg and I intend to visit you this evening after supper. - M’

“Ah, it’s a message from the queen. Apparently he and his consort will grace us with their presence tonight.” John tossed the phone to Sherlock so he could read the message for himself.

Sherlock caught it easily, quirking a brow at the screen, “Now why would my brother be coming by tonight?”

Victoria’s eyes were wide and she was chewing on her lip in nervousness at the thought of unknown people coming into her new little haven.

Sherlock lifted a hand to run it over her hair in gentle comfort, “Just my brother and his mate. Mycroft is a pointy nosed stick in the mud but other than that he’s nice enough. His mate, Lestrade, is exceptionally nice.”

John nodded at the nervous little girl. “Greg is one of the kindest people in the world and Mycroft is a cream puff beneath the hot air he likes to put on.” _’Perhaps he has that video you wanted, of his dealings in Vienna. More likely he and Greg want to meet their niece.’_ John downed the rest of his tea. “I actually look forward to seeing them. Should we get them something? Like a congratulation on their bonding?”

“Such as?” Sherlock moved to sit up on the sofa, letting Victoria burrow against him, “I cannot think of anything they might need or want that they don’t already have.”

Victoria trusted what her new guardians were saying, could feel the truth they felt in their own words. She was just nervous because she’d not met these two people before and, until she could get a feel for them, new people were frightening. So she’d stay close to Sherlock or John for the rest of the day, just to be safe.

“I don’t know, it’s your brother. It just...Well it feels like it’s an occasion worth celebrating...and I sound like Hettie now, don’t I?” John laughed at himself. “Greg has officially become my brother in law though, a congratulations is definitely in order.” He watched Victoria burrow against Sherlock, it was silly and stupid but he couldn’t help but feel a tiny little bit estranged from them where he sat in his own chair. 

_’John get over here.’_ Sherlock crooked a finger at him a bit demandingly, “Then we’ll just say congratulations when they arrive won’t we?”

"Yeah, I suppose that is the way to go." John got up from his chair and walked the few steps to the couch, hovering next to it a bit awkwardly.

Sherlock reached out and pulled him down onto the sofa so that Victoria was settled between them and he could cup the back of John’s neck possessively.

Victoria relaxed further, not clinging to Sherlock anymore and sitting up straight, feeling protected from both sides now. She began playing with the string again, making one figure then holding it out to John, obviously expecting him to make the next.

John leaned back against Sherlock's hand on his neck as he smiled at Victoria and took the string and made another finger. This he was good at; at least his surgeon hands were still good for something. He handed the string back to her and tucked a bright copper colored lock behind her small ear. 

She smiled, leaning into the gentle hand trustingly. She didn’t like the sadness she sometimes felt trickling from John but it wasn’t threatening and everything else about the man was comforting, a _safe_ feeling. 

Sherlock smiled and picked up a book on the coffee table as Victoria continued playing the string game with John.

John slowly relaxed as he showed Victoria different shapes and figures she could create with the string. It was comfortable and homey. John was aware that it had only been a day so far but that didn’t change the way he felt, like they were already a family, Victoria belonged here with them, she really did.

 

~oOo~

 

Greg’s lips were twitching like mad as he watched his mate school his features away from the pout that kept trying to return. He’d kept everything firmly in hand while they were picking up a few toys and a couple of outfits for Victoria and hadn’t let Mycroft go overboard. He’d have let him go wild if she’d met them before but she didn’t know them and a huge mound of presents would probably scare her. “Just think about the look on Sherlock’s face when he sees the kitten.”

Said kitten was resting in a pretty sky blue soft carrier with pink paw-prints all over it.

Mycroft sniffed, he did look forward to seeing his brother’s expression when he saw the kitten but still, what was so wrong with wanting to give gifts? “I do not find your mirth very amusing. You could at least have allowed me to buy the dollhouse.” 

“Too big for now baby,” he reached out and cupped Mycroft’s cheek, “We don’t want to overwhelm her. Just the few toys, clothes and the kitten for now. I promise that once she’s settled in more and used to you and me then you can go wild.”

He knew Greg was right, logically he knew that. It was just that Mycroft was...emotionally challenged, he was happy for John and Sherlock and he really wanted to meet Victoria, wanted his niece to like him. He had no idea how to act around children, he did not want to buy her affection, it wasn’t like that at all. He just wanted to give her all the things she deserved but had never had. “I will hold you to that promise.”

He pulled Mycroft in for a gentle kiss and looked up when the car stopped. “We’re here. You carry the cat; I’ll bring the box with everything else inside. I’d suggest leaving the carrier outside the flat door until after introductions are made and the toys and stuff we’ll let her inspect at her own pace.”

Mycroft nodded and grabbed the carrier as he stepped out of the car. How did Greg expect him to be able to keep pouting when he kissed him like that? Mycroft looked up at the facade of 221B and waited for Greg to exit the car with the box containing the gift. He had to admit that he was nervous, this was much more nerve wracking than facing down corrupt councilmembers. 

They stepped inside and walked up the seventeen steps leading to Sherlock and John’s flat. There Mycroft placed the carrier with the kitten outside the door and to the side before knocking.

Sherlock was the one who answered the door, Victoria having immediately scooted behind John, who was cooking. He lifted a brow at the box Lestrade held before stepping back to let them in, “I trust the issues in Vienna were handled efficiently.”

Greg came in and set the box with Victoria’s name on it down out of the way, “Three corrupt politicians off the council. I’d say so.”

“It was worth both the ruined suit and shoes actually.” Mycroft nodded. “If you wish it, the surveillance file can be sent to your laptop at any time.” He stretched his neck in an attempt to catch sight of his niece. 

John ran a comforting hand over Victoria’s curls and turned toward Greg and Mycroft. “Congratulations on your bonding. How are you feeling Greg?” John gave them a warm smile.

Greg smiled, “Never better John.” He noticed the bright copper hair of the little girl barely poking out from behind John. “Is that a little robin I see behind you?”

John turned and held out his arms to Victoria, asking silently if it was okay for him to pick her up. At her nod he swept her up in his arms and turned back to their guests. “This is Victoria. Victoria, meet your uncles, Mycroft and Greg. Mycroft is Sherlock’s brother and Greg is his mate. Greg is a newborn vampire so you might have to show him the ropes, since you know how it’s done.” John rested his cheek against the top of her head.

Greg just smiled as he was studied closely by wide green eyes, “Hi there little Miss Victoria, nice to meet you.” She was absolutely too adorable for words. Though the evidence of neglect was clear in the thinness of her face and arms. It made a flash of protectiveness surge through him.

“It really is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Mycroft nodded, swallowing around the nervous lump in his throat. The girl was beautiful; she would be a heartbreaker once she grew up. He noticed the signs of abuse as well and again he promised himself that if the council did not eliminate DuLac, he would make sure that it was done. 

Her clinging to John lessened a bit. There were complicated feelings between Sherlock and his brother but nothing bad, nothing that scared her, and nothing violent. A sudden wave of something she’d felt from both John and Sherlock came from the one John had called Greg and was echoed by Sherlock’s brother and it had her relaxing further, enough to greet them quietly. “Hello.”

Sherlock walked over to turn the stove off before dinner burned, “I do believe that my brother and Lestrade brought you some things from their trip abroad,” he reached out and ran a hand over her hair, “In the box over there.”

Greg smiled, “We did yes. You can look through it whenever you want sweetheart.”

“It’s just some small gifts but they are giving with affection.” Mycroft managed a true, honest smile at the girl, not his usual twitch of lips. 

John nuzzled her hair. “Do you want me to put you down so you can have a look?” 

She ducked her head and nibbled on the collar of her shirt, not certain she wanted down as of yet.

Greg looked over at Mycroft and gently nudged him with a look at the open door.

Mycroft caught the hint and walked back out in the hallway and picked up the carrier. “Greg and I did get you something not from Vienna as well.” He smiled at Victoria as he opened the carrier and picked up the snow white ball of fur so she could see the kitten.

The cat opened sleepy blue eyes and mewed at its sleep having been disturbed and Victoria made a soft sound of delight, holding her arms out for the kitten.

Sherlock saw how fluffy and blazingly white the cat was and gave his brother a look of long suffering irritation. He knew, he just knew, the breed had been chosen to make a mess of his suits. 

Mycroft sent Sherlock a tiny smirk as he rose and placed the sleepy kitten in Victoria’s outstretched arms. “She’s all yours princess Victoria, you have to give her a name of course, one we can engrave on her collar.” He had chosen sapphires for the collar in the end and it looked rather dashing if he could say so. 

John rolled his eyes at the bright white fur but he couldn’t even pretend to be upset, not when he saw the delight on Victoria’s features. 

She brought the kitten in close and giggled when a tiny, rough tongue swiped at her nose, little white paws batting gently at her cheeks. 

Greg smiled and slipped his arm around Mycroft’s waist as they watched Victoria get acquainted with the kitten, which was already starting to purr.

“Oh! Like Sherlock!”

Sherlock would have turned red had he been capable of it especially when John laughed, loudly.

“Mmhmm, exactly like Sherlock sweetheart.” John was still laughing but he sent his mate a look full of love and adoration. He then turned to Greg and Mycroft. “You are more than welcome to stay for dinner if you feel like nibbling on something solid.”

“Sounds good to me,” Greg’s voice was absolutely ripe with amusement, “Any help needed with setting the table or-”

“No. Go, living room,” Sherlock pointed and made a shooing motion, “All of you. It’s stew, I’ll bring out the bowls and spoons.”

 _’Everything alright love? You know that I was not making fun of you right?’_ John sent his mate a concerned look even as he walked toward the living room, girl and kitten still in his arms.

Mycroft followed behind the good doctor, Greg’s arm around his waist and he did not mind it being there. Everything always felt better when his mate was within touching distance. 

_’Yes John I know. It’s fine.’_ Sherlock took out five bowls and began dishing up servings.

Greg settled with Mycroft on the sofa, John with Victoria and the kitten sitting on the other end, “So how have things been with the couple of Met cases?”

“It’s been fine, not very exciting cases, Sherlock solved them both in an instant but Gregson is a good cop, he listens to Sherlock and is not too proud to accept his help.” John smiled. “Once Sherlock has finished drilling him, Gregson will be an excellent DI.” 

Greg laughed when he heard Sherlock mutter something about having his work cut out for him from the kitchen, “Yeah we know you arrogant sod, you’re the brains behind the DI.”

Victoria looked from Greg to the kitchen, still petting the silky fur of her kitten. The words weren’t the nicest but the feeling of pride and affection was thick in the air and she scooted off John’s lap, still pressed into his side but growing more comfortable around Greg and Sherlock’s brother.

“Language Gregory.” Mycroft admonished softly, sounding more amused than anything else. He was rather amazed of how the kitten still purred, seeming completely content being held and petted by a little girl, amazed and happy. Girl and cat seemed to have taken to each other and that was what he and Greg had hoped for after all.

“Heard worse.” Victoria nuzzled the kitten and giggled as it decided to climb over her shoulders as Sherlock exited the kitchen, stew bowls on a tray.

Yes, Mycroft could believe she had heard worse, most likely been called worse. His anger at those responsible returned but he fought to push the rage back down. Since Victoria was an empath she didn’t need to feel anger from him. “Still, one should mind one’s language.” 

“Thank you love for bringing the food out.” John’s voice was warm with affection. His stomach grumbled and John’s ears turned red with embarrassment. It was a strange feeling, being the only human in the room, the only one who actually needed food. “It smells amazing.”

“You made it.” Sherlock passed a bowl each to Greg, Mycroft, and handed one with a small serving to Victoria. She was cautious about food, never really having eaten food before. He sat on the floor at John’s feet. _’Don’t be embarrassed. Though perhaps now you’ll cease skipping meals.’_

Victoria poked at a carrot in the stew with her spoon before bringing it along with some of the juice up to sniff cautiously.

 _’This is a strange turn of events, you telling me off for skipping meals instead of the other way around. I’ll do better, promise.’_ John raked his fingers through Sherlock’s hair once in a loving gesture before tucking into the stew. 

Mycroft was highly amused, watching Victoria’s reaction to food. It was so cute. 

Greg spooned up a chunk of beef and cheerfully popped it into his mouth. He might not get any nutrition or calories from it but he always had been a bit of a sensualist and taste was one of the most fun senses. “Hmm, excellent. Maybe not quite Hettie grade but not much is Hettie grade so no offence John.”

“None taken, I’m not a chef and I’ve never claimed to be one. As long as I can keep myself from starving then I’m content.” John grinned at Greg and continued to eat his stew. 

Mycroft sucked on his spoon as he ate, it was a good stew. Normally he liked a bit of gourmet food if he was to eat anything but this was nice...cozy.

Victoria grew bold enough to nibble, making a sound of surprise as she discovered the flavor.

Sherlock had to smile, remembering the first time he’d eaten food. It had been a pastry and he’d thought nothing on earth could taste better. Of course he’d been wrong but it had taken him until John to find that out.

 _’She’s adorable is she not? I look forward to us getting to introduce her to all sorts of wonderful things, like ice cream and going to the movies. Roller coasters and cotton candy.’_ Victoria had already crawled inside his heart and now she rested there alongside of Sherlock. 

_’I’d suggest getting her used to crowds first.’_ Sherlock’s free hand lifted and curled around John’s knee affectionately, meeting his eyes as he ‘spoke’ to him.

Greg noticed the silent exchange and made an intuitive leap, “The two of you are talking to each other in your heads aren’t you. That’s why you cracked up like a couple of loons in Mycroft’s office before.”

John grinned wickedly, absolutely amused at Mycroft’s gobsmacked expression. “Looks like you figured it out, you might be smarter than you look.” 

Mycroft looked between them, feeling a little bit envious, oh the things you could do with a private language like that. What an edge to have. 

“How in the,” he glanced at a rapt Victoria, “living end can you two do that now?”

Sherlock stirred his stew, “My hypothesis is that when John repaired the exacerbated damage Moran did to me we exchanged parts of our spirits, opening a mental channel of communication.”

“Sherlock owns my soul and a part of it rests with him and part of his rests with me.” John put his empty bowl on the table and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair again, suddenly needing to touch his mate. 

Sherlock leaned into the touch, “As good as it is I would not advise anyone else do it.” Though it was more than worth the pain he’d experienced to have such a close connection to John, the risk of something going wrong should someone try to duplicate it was far too high.

“No definitely not.” John shook his head. “Absolutely without a doubt the most terrifying moment of my life.” He still remembered the terror and the claws tearing at his heart if fear that he would lose his Sherlock. No one should go through that. 

Victoria reached up and pat John’s cheek, all concern for the shadow feelings that appeared and then puffed out like ghosts.

John smiled at her and leaned down to kiss her brow lightly. “It’s okay sweetheart, luckily it turned out well. I have my Sherlock; the feelings are only memories now”

Sherlock made an assenting noise that was quickly interrupted by a sharp, “Guh!” as he had to catch a curious kitten from falling into his stew. He held it up to his face, eyes narrow, and completely assured it would be trouble. He got a mew and big innocent blue eyes looking at him cutely for his effort before snorting and handing the kitten back to Victoria.

Greg chuckled, “I guess the kitten might be a little hungry.”

“Oh, in the carrier there’s food made for kittens.” Mycroft got up from the couch to go and get the food. “We have bowls too of course and a litterbox.” Greg and he had made sure to get everything a cat needed when they bought the kitten. 

Victoria looked at the kitten, chewed on her lip a bit, then scooted off the sofa to follow Mycroft. Having been starved herself she wasn’t about to let her kitten be hungry. She’d take care of her no matter what, even if it meant stepping out of her comfort zone.

Mycroft was aware of the little girl following him and he sent her what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he got the bowls and the food. “Let’s set it up in the kitchen for her shall we?” He walked into the kitchen and sat the bowls down on the floor, filling one with water and the other with the kitten food. “I’m placing the rest of the food here on this shelf in the fridge; you can reach it there so you can feed your kitty when she gets hungry.” Mycroft knew that John and Sherlock would be happy to help her but he also knew that it felt good to be able to do something by yourself. “Have you figured out a name for her?”

She set the kitten down and watched as it went to the food and began to take delicate little bites. She tilted her head this way and that before making a decision, “Lily.”

“Lily, what a fitting name. I am sure she will wear that name with pride. Beautiful name for a beautiful kitten belonging to an even more beautiful girl.” Mycroft’s smile came easier now, he didn’t feel as self conscious when it was just him and Victoria. Even though Sherlock and John were family, Mycroft found it hard to let go of all his shields in front of them.

She hunkered down to watch the kitten eat, occasionally looking up at Mycroft as if trying to figure him out. She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of him. Most of the people she’d met before who acted like they didn’t feel or acted opposite to what they felt had been bad. They’d felt bad things and liked to hurt people. Sherlock’s brother was the first person she’d met who concealed his feelings when they weren’t bad feelings.

_**To be continued…** _


	25. Part Twenty-Five

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; mostly Johnlock fluff. More Victoria and small plans for the future._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-Five._ **

Mycroft stayed in the kitchen with the girl and the kitty, making easy small talk, not minding that Victoria didn’t reply. He just wanted to give her a chance to start getting to know him and not be scared of him. For the first time in his life, Mycroft did not want to be seen as intimidating.

John heard the murmur of Mycroft’s voice from the kitchen, he couldn’t make out what the man was saying but the tone of voice was warm and friendly. _’Your brother is a rather complicated man isn’t he?’_ John wouldn’t have thought that Mycroft would show such concern and attention to a child, he didn’t seem the type but apparently John had been wrong about that.

 _’Oh don’t make me admit it. I might start treating him nicely.’_ Sherlock had an idea of what his brother was saying but tuned it out. It wasn’t important, just simple chatter, boring.

Greg finished his stew, grinning at the sounds of his mate chattering. It didn’t happen very often. “So how are the two of you going to get furniture and a wardrobe for Victoria? Internet or personal shopping?”

“Personal shopping.” John had to smile at the disgusted look his mate sent him at that statement. “I want to get a feeling for the furniture. You can’t get that over the internet. They should be perfect and we should look and touch before we decide.” _’Sorry love.’_

 _’You’ll expect me to behave too won’t you?’_ Sherlock’s nose twitched in distaste.

Greg pursed his lips, tongue in cheek, “Does Sherlock get a cookie if he doesn’t make the clerks cry?”

“I forego the cookies and bargain with kisses instead.” John showed that by bending down and giving Sherlock an upside down kiss. 

“Cute,” it was a dry drawl as Greg watched Sherlock lean up into the kiss. “Watch your bowl so it doesn’t tip over.” 

Sherlock flipped him off but followed that advice before cupping John’s head in his hands to keep him from pulling away too soon.

In the kitchen Victoria stood up from her crouch so she was face to face with Mycroft, vivid green eyes searching over his features. She lifted a hand and traced the frown lines next to his mouth and over his forehead, marks of centuries of worry. “You’re sad a lot.” Her voice was quiet.

Mycroft met her gaze as he pondered on how to reply to that. “Yes I am, I have a very tough job and sometimes I am forced to make decisions I don’t want to make.” He sighed. “I believe I won’t be as sad in the future though. I am not alone anymore.” His gaze flicked out toward the living room where his mate sat.

Now she knew two couples who made each other happy. Her parents hadn’t made each other happy, what had made them happy was pain and blood and hurting people. The same with the other couples she’d seen around before. This was different from that and she’d never imagined it existed, it was a better way. Was it the true norm then? “Is that right? The way it should be?” She didn’t know if he’d understand the question but she needed to ask and to know.

He blinked at her but then he got it. “Yes, this is how it should be. Mates love and care for each other and their families. You support each other when it’s needed; stand by one and other through easy and hard times. Love and kindness, that is exactly how it should be.” Mycroft answered as honestly as he could and he sort of pushed his feelings on the matter to the forefront of his mind so that she could read the truth in his emotions.

She studied him a little bit longer; it wasn’t just the truth that she felt coming from him but the new feeling of a want to look after, like how she felt about her kitten, to care for. It was that same feeling she got from Sherlock and John, just a little different. She nodded and picked Lily up when the kitten brushed against her ankle after finishing her food. “Okay. It’s good.”

Mycroft smiled at her. “Shall we go and join the others again?” At her nod they walked back into the living room. Mycroft went to the couch and sat down next to Greg, so close that their sides were pressed against each other.

Victoria set her kitten on Sherlock’s shoulder, where it played with his hair much to his complete lack of amusement, as she scrabbled onto the couch between the two couples.

Greg smiled and lifted a hand to play with the hair at the nape of Mycroft’s neck as he tried to keep from laughing at Sherlock and the kitten.

Mycroft didn’t bother to hide his amused smirk at his little brother’s troubles. Sherlock needed someone who was completely unimpressed by his scare techniques, even if it was just a kitten. 

John’s hand rested at the crook of Sherlock’s neck and he rubbed his thumb up and down the smooth, pale column of his mate’s neck. He found the picture that Sherlock and the kitten made utterly adorable.

Victoria giggled and took the string from the earlier game, dangling it to catch the kitten’s attention. The tiny creature pounced away from Sherlock’s hair and went after the string with a little butt wiggle.

Sherlock quirked a brow at Lestrade’s chuckle. _’John I think I know EXACTLY what to get the new happy couple in congratulations.’_

 _’Hmm, what is it you have in mind then?’_ John was curious, if Sherlock had come up with something it would be good, John knew that much. He continued to caress Sherlock’s neck with his thumb, loving the sensation of his mate’s skin under his finger.

The answer didn’t come in words but in the image of a big ball of cottony fluff with floppy ears and a happy tongue lolly grin.

John couldn’t help but to grin happily at the image of the great pyrenees puppy his mate sent him, his approval over Sherlock’s choice chiming clear and loud across their bond. _’That is perfect love, absolutely brilliant. Let’s do it, get them one.’_

Greg saw the absolutely unholy glee spread over Sherlock’s face with vague worry but it was easily chased away. Sherlock wouldn’t do anything to cause actual harm and he knew it. Of course he also knew that Mycroft would be getting worried about the unholy glee too and one of them worried was all they needed.

Suddenly the kitten bounded across the couch, using Mycroft and Greg as spring boards to land in the box with the presents and Victoria hopped off the sofa to follow Lily picking her up out of the box before any damage could be done. Then her curiosity took over and she pulled the wrapped presents out to poke at the paper and cautiously unwrap them.

Mycroft leaned forward slightly, watching Victoria unwrap her gifts. He hoped that she would like the outfits and toys that he and Greg had picked out for her.

John watched too, he doubted very much that she had ever been given a gift before in her whole life before this evening. 

Sherlock watched closely as she carefully plucked at the paper, using tiny claws to cut at the taped folds so that she was removing the paper whole and undamaged. The first was a long, flat box, clothing of some sort, and when she lifted off the top of the box to reveal a delicately lacy, light blue dress the surprised gasp was loud in the room.

Greg saw her turn and look at them, uncertain hope in her eyes, and he nodded, “All of that is for you sweetheart. No one is going to take it away.” His heart just about turned over in his chest when her eyes grew shiny and her hands shook just a little bit before she flung herself, dress and all, at Mycroft and Greg, a stuttered thank you barely whispering through the air.

"Oh sweetheart, you are very much welcome." Mycroft looked absolutely shocked at having a lap full of little girl but he soon composed himself and wrapped her up in a hug along with Greg. Now he was glad that Greg had been able to hold him back from buying more gifts, his mate was right, she would have been overwhelmed. These gifts were just enough, they _mattered_. 

John's heart clenched as he saw Victoria's pure joy over the dress, something that was just hers, something pretty. _'The world might be ending love, I find myself actually feeling some sort of fondness for your brother'._

 _’That is a sign of the Apocalypse, especially as I’m having charitable thoughts toward him as well. Those will likely end the first time I find a cat hair on one of my suits.’_ Sherlock met his brother’s eyes over the bundle of little girl and exchanged a meaningful look of gratitude.

Greg gently rubbed Victoria’s back in comfort, not bothering to wince as the kitten climbed up his trouser leg to get to her sniffling mistress, mewing madly.

Mycroft looked away from his brother and caught the kitten using Greg as a climbing pole and brought her up to Victoria. “Do you wish to put the dress on? You can if you want to, it is all yours.” He smiled at the little girl, pulling lightly on a copper colored curl.

She took the kitten and appeared to be thinking it through.

Greg tickled the kitten under the chin, “Or if you don’t want to right now that’s okay too. It’ll be right there for you whenever you’re ready to wear it.”

She looked at Sherlock and John, “Tomorrow?”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes you can wear it tomorrow.” He had a feeling she didn’t feel like wrestling out and into an outfit so late in the day when she’d just have to get undressed and in her pajamas in a couple of hours.

John smiled, adoring the sense Victoria was showing. “We’ll place the dress on a hanger later on so that you can see it when you wake up. Remember, you have more gifts in the box too.” 

She looked at the box and wiggled off Mycroft’s lap, no longer cautious but very, very curious. 

Greg rested his chin on his mate’s shoulder and watched the little girl cleanly remove the paper from the next present, a pale pink sundress that got a delighted coo, and then the next. The wrapping paper all ended up in a neat little stack beside her as she inspected the puzzle game, the intricately painted nesting dolls, and the little pull train. She just stared at the dress up jewelry set for a while, watching it sparkle in the low light as she turned the clip on earrings, necklace, and tiara around and around. Then she opened the view master and cocked her head in the most adorable gesture he’d ever seen.

Mycroft turned and kissed Greg before he slid off the couch and sunk down on the floor next to Victoria, not caring in the slightest that he was on his knees in a very expensive suit. He took the view master and showed Victoria how to work it, how to look into it and how to change the images. “These are pictures of Vienna, that’s the city we got your gifts in, well all except Lily, she’s as English as a cat can be.”

She held the viewer up to her eyes curiously and made a surprised and happy sound, “Oh pretty!” She clicked slowly through the first round of slides three times before changing the card, careful to put it back in the box so it wouldn’t get lost or damaged. She made a soft squeal when she looked into the viewer for the second card.

Greg grinned, “The Lipizzaner reel?”

Mycroft nodded. “Nothing like white horsies to make a girl happy.” He still hadn’t given up on the pony idea but it didn’t have to happen right away, he had all the time in the world to spoil his niece from here on out.

Sherlock saw the look on his brother’s face and easily guessed what he was thinking, “Not a Shetland, that is my only requirement.” He’d learned how to ride horses, it was a rather necessary skill from earlier centuries, and he still enjoyed doing so when he had the opportunity so he had no quarrel with Victoria learning.

“Of course not.” Mycroft made a disgusted face. “Those small, round... _things_ aren’t a proper horses.” He nearly preened at having Sherlock’s permission. A pony it would definitely be then. He shot his mate a look and rather enjoyed the look of confused shock on Dr. Watson’s face as well. 

“What? You’re not actually expecting me to argue are you? Cause I know well....nothing about that.” He also had a feeling that his mate was going to make him learn to ride a horse all of a sudden and his bum was not going to be happy with him about it.

“You’ll learn, it’s really not that difficult.” Mycroft was already planning when he could take Greg to the Manor for a weekend, show his mate where he and Sherlock were born and teach Greg how to ride. 

“Are we talking real, live horses here?” John still looked slightly confused.

“Of course.” Sherlock’s voice was matter of fact, “What else would we be talking about?”

“Yes, what else indeed.” John’s tone was dry. “Cut me some slag, born and bred city boy here. The closest thing I have come to a real horse is watching them on telly.”

“I’ll have to fix that then,” Sherlock gave his mate an innocent smile that probably had sent more than one person screaming in terror.

“Uh huh.” John sounded very skeptical. Horses were big, tall animals and John was...well he wasn’t exactly the tallest man around. He couldn’t see anything good coming from him meeting a horse close up and personal. 

_’I’ll make it worth your while.’_ Sherlock trailed his fingers along John’s knee.

 _’I can think of a much nicer something to ride than a horse._ John fingers ran through the hair at the nape of Sherlock’s neck.

“Oi you two, let’s keep a U rating here hm?” Greg gave them a look.

“Yes Daddy.” Sarcasm thy name is Sherlock Holmes.

“Really Greg, you’re going to censor our thoughts now.” John tutted. “I believe it’ just the green eyed monster speaking.”

“No it’s not, it’s the fact that a U rating is required and the sort of thoughts you two were starting to exchange tend to cause a reaction that automatically bumps the rating way, way up.” Greg flicked a paperclip from the coffee table at them.

John blew him a raspberry. “Spoilsport.”

“Really now children, behave.” Mycroft drawled at them from where he was seated on the floor with Victoria.

Victoria giggled and looked at John and Sherlock over the viewmaster with delight.

John sent her a beaming smile in return and winked at her. He was happy that she seemed to have warmed up to Mycroft and Greg and he was still pleasantly surprised by Mycroft and how he behaved himself around a child.

Sherlock was no less surprised but then he supposed that Lestrade as well as time had been a softening influence on his brother. He turned the discussion to child friendly subjects that weren’t interminably boring and they sat around chatting while Victoria played with the viewmaster and Mycroft sat on the floor. It was enough to make him wonder briefly if he’d stepped into an alternate universe but that thought was cut off by Victoria yawning. “I believe that is the cue for bedtime.”

“I think you are very much right about that.” John nodded and got off the couch. “Come sweetheart, time to brush your teeth again and change into your pyjamas.” He smiled. “Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg will come and visit again and we can go visit them as well. Look at Lily, she’s already fallen asleep.” The white kitten was curled in Victoria’s lap, sleeping like the dead.

“Kay,” she got up, gently picking Lily up out of her lap, of course waking the kitten up but it didn’t make any protest, and thanked Mycroft and Greg again before following John to the bathroom.

Sherlock got to his feet and twitched just a bit before he gave in and held a hand out to his brother, “Thank you.”

Mycroft looked at the hand as if afraid it would bite him before he took it in his own and shook it. “You have nothing to thank me for little brother. Thank you for allowing us to come here and meet her. She’s absolutely lovely Sherlock. You and John will make the best parents possible for her.” He looked over at Greg; just making sure his mate was still there. “When you have the time and Victoria has settled in more, please bring her over so Thomas and Hettie can meet her, I think they would appreciate that.”

“We intend to.” Victoria was, in a way, their grandchild now after all. 

Greg smiled and stood up, moving over to scruffle Sherlock’s hair, much to his glaring disdain, “You’re always welcome you know that kid.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft agreed before reaching out and taking hold of his mate’s hand. “I have called for the car, it should be here within minutes.”

“Do send that surveillance file to me Mycroft. I always enjoy watching morons get their comeuppance.”

“Will do, you should see my mate fight, very impressive.” Mycroft would have Anthea send the file to Sherlock once he and Greg were in the car. 

Greg snorted, “Not that impressive. He was a weenie.”

Sherlock smirked, “I am completely unsurprised by that statement.” He looked over as John and Victoria came back out.

The little girl waved, “Bye.”

Greg wiggled his fingers in return, “Goodnight sweetheart.”

“Goodbye little princess, sleep tight and look after these two here. They do tend to get into trouble on their own.” Mycroft waved as well before he and Greg left. 

“Ready for bed darling?” John asked the little girl in his arms.

She nodded, “Uh-huh.”

Sherlock looked at the sleeping kitten in her arms and sighed, “The cat’s going in the bed with us isn’t it?”

“It certainly looks that way yes.” John nodded, he could already picture sharp little claws on defenseless toes and legs as they slept but he didn’t have the heart to separate girl and kitten. He stepped close and gave his mate a quick kiss before walking toward the bedroom.

Victoria yawned again as John set her and Lily down on the bed and she settled down in the middle of it, kitten on the pillow by her head. “Night.”

Sherlock had come in behind them and he smoothed her hair off her brow and leaned down to kiss it, “Goodnight Victoria.”

“Sleep well sweetheart.” John followed Sherlock’s lead and pressed a kiss to Victoria’s cheek. He and Sherlock sat with her until her breathing evened out with sleep. Then John snuck back out to the living room, he wasn’t quite ready to go to bed just yet.

Sherlock settled onto the sofa with him, pulling out his laptop to look into pyrenees puppies for sale. “How are you feeling?”

John snuggled close to Sherlock without being in the way for the laptop on his mate’s lap. “I’m fine.”

He turned his head and nuzzled John’s temple, “Good. Ah,” his email had a file from Anthea.

“Is it the video file?” John leaned his head on Sherlock’s shoulder so he could watch the screen of Sherlock’s laptop. “Let’s watch it please.”

Sherlock brought it up and lowered the volume so it wouldn’t wake Victoria. He rolled his eyes at DuLac’s attempts to get out of the hole. “Moron.”

John nodded, the man was an utter idiot and John couldn’t see how someone like him had been allowed on the council to begin with. “Moron and a coward.” Of course such a man wouldn’t risk his hide by fighting Mycroft.

“Not surprising.” Sherlock scoffed at Fraiche and her pathetic idiocy but Debinworth’s challenge to Lestrade sent his brows winging up, “This is almost painful in its idiocy.”

“If they weren’t such creeps I would nearly feel sorry for the man. He just sees a newborn vampire. He really should have done better research than that.” John was appalled. “Greg could beat him with one arm tied behind his back.

“Hmm,” Sherlock watched the video, his smirk growing wider with each move in the fight, “No one will so much as try to challenge Mycroft personally now. Not after Lestrade’s defeat of a councilman like that.”

“Nope, and gods, look at Mycroft. He’s so proud he looks ready to burst.” John had to chuckle at the look of pride on Mycroft’s face. He didn’t mention the desire that was also there, John liked to pretend he didn’t see any such thing in regards to Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade. “What will happen to DuLac?”

“Imprisoned until the council can review all the evidence then most likely executed.” One hand went to rest on John’s leg absently.

“Good.” John wanted the man dead. “Did you hear him speak about spreading that virus among the were society? A man like that would have no qualms about experimenting on children. He should die.” John’s head was still resting on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Unfortunately he’s not the only one like that.” He rubbed his cheek on the top of John’s head, “however we try to find and take the others down as best we can.”

“Yes we will, I don’t care how long it takes but eventually we will find them and get rid of them.” John inched even closer, feeling the need to be as close to Sherlock as he possibly could. Since they had mated he had spent every single night curled around Sherlock but now there was a little girl in their bed and he couldn’t do that anymore.

Sherlock moved so that he was lengthways on the sofa, one knee drawn up against the back, one foot on the floor, John in between his legs, the laptop on John’s lap, and Sherlock’s arms around him. He nuzzled the hollow under John’s ear, “Better?”

“Mmm, yes. Thank you...sorry if I’m being a bother.” John didn’t mean to be clingy but at times it really felt as if he _needed_ physical closeness to his mate. 

“Idiot, you’re not a bother.” It was a typical mate bond response to cling at times and there would be times Sherlock knew he’d be positively obnoxious about it while John was never obnoxious in that regard.

“I still apologize, I know you don’t like having to keep still for long. Just let me know if you get ants in your legs.” John tilted his head up and to the side so he could press a lingering kiss on the soft skin just below Sherlock’s left ear. 

“If I get ‘antsy’ we could always dance,” he paused and pursed his lips, “We’ve never danced before have we?”

“No we haven’t.” John shook his head in the negative and kissed Sherlock’s neck again. “You are so graceful with every movement you make; I bet you are a fantastic dancer.”

He tilted his head to let John have better access to his neck, “I wouldn’t know as I generally avoid social situations where dancing is a necessity.” That wasn’t to say he didn’t dance or couldn’t. He could and occasionally did if he was in a particularly good mood.

“I feel you there; I’m not exactly a fan of such social situations either. And in the army there’s not much dancing.” John would still bet everything he owned that Sherlock was a good dancer, he had such grace. Even his hand gestures as he spoke were graceful and beautiful to watch. He nuzzled his nose against Sherlock’s neck before going back to kissing it.

“Hm, can’t imagine there is.” Sherlock trailed the fingers of one hand up and down John’s forearm.

“The last time I danced, really properly danced was probably at Harry’s graduation.” Just saying that made John feel old and worn. Physically though, he had never been fitter than he was now and he couldn’t complain about that. If he was really honest with himself he wanted to be fit for Sherlock. Sherlock was so beautiful.

Sherlock set the laptop aside and wrapped his arms tight around his mate, “Why did you stay in touch with your sister?” He wasn’t condemning John, he was curious. It seemed as though every time his sister came round or he dealt with her or even spoke of her, John hurt and Sherlock wanted to know why.

“When we were kids we were very close. She’s two years older than me and she was very protective of me but she let me follow her everywhere. Growing up it seemed as if we had the same views on the outdated hunter society.” John gnawed at his bottom lip as he spoke. “Then things changed, she went off to school and met some people, hunters. She came out as a lesbian and my family was not at all pleased by that. I think she did everything in her power to please them after that, even becoming a carbon copy of them. I guess...I guess I hoped that my Harry would still be in there somewhere but she isn’t. There’s only emptiness, bitterness and booze there now.”

Sherlock turned his head and brushed his lips over John’s temple. He didn’t have a way to make that sting better, no handy words to comfort his mate, but he let his affection and not-quite-sorrow for what John had lost wash over their mental connection. Letting him know without words that he was there and cared.

John smiled and hoisted himself up a little so he could brush his lips over Sherlock’s before settling back down. “It’s okay, I’ve had years to come to terms with the disappointment. The only one who stayed family, the only one who always stood by me was my grandmother.”

“What was she like?” Sherlock liked to know things, especially about John and what had built him up and this was important.

“Wonderful.” Everything about John became soft with fondness as he remembered his Gammy. “She was my Dad’s mother, a Watson through and through, she became a widow in world war two, became a widow before Dad was even born but she managed everything on her own. She kept the small farm in Aberdeen, worked the farm and two other jobs to support her and Dad. She was the strongest person I’ve ever met and the kindest. She had such love for everything and everyone. Always saw the good in people. When my parents cut me off and kicked me out when I was sixteen she took me in, helped me get my grades up and apply for uni. I owe her everything.”

As John spoke Sherlock saw little flashes of the woman jump across their bond along with the deep abiding love and he could only think of one word. “Amazing.”

“Mmm, she really was.” John nodded a small, loving smile on his lips as he lay cuddled against his mate. “She would have adored you.”

“I certainly hope she would have approved.” He closed his eyes and sniffed at John’s neck. _’I’m glad you had her.’_

 _’Me too and I know she would have loved you.’_ It felt good getting to talk about her, in a way it felt as if he was finally allowed to grieve her and say goodbye. “I was in Afghanistan when she died, I wish I could have been with her.” John tilted his head to the side, offering his neck up to Sherlock. _’Are you hungry?’_

Sherlock had to admit that he was though that hadn’t been why he’d been sniffing at John’s neck. He just liked the way his mate smelled as a rule. _’A little.’_ He nuzzled the skin over John’s pulse, kissed it and laved his tongue over it even as he considered calling in an old favor to give John a gift, though he hid that thought from his mate. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he didn’t. 

John hummed in pleasure at feeling Sherlock’s tongue on his pulse point. He never minded when Sherlock fed from him, it was a pleasurable feeling and he loved the intimacy of it. Loved that he could give Sherlock that much, his blood along with his never ending love. _’Go ahead and feed love.’_

He let his fangs drop down and bit delicately into John’s neck like a human might a rare and delicious delicacy, piercing the skin and letting the warm blood fill his mouth. As always the taste of John made him moan just a bit when it flooded over his tongue and he tangled the fingers of one hand with John’s affectionately as he fed.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand lightly as he gave into the sensations of Sherlock feeding off of him. As always it felt absolutely amazing and he was so happy to be able to do this for Sherlock, to be of some use for him. He hummed softly as tilted his head even more to the side, feeling his mate's silky tongue lap at the puncture wounds on his neck.

Sherlock made a soft sound that was almost a sigh as he finished feeding and licked the blood away from John’s neck until the punctures sealed. He continued to nuzzle at John’s skin, like a needy puppy nuzzled at a littermate. “When would you like to start easing Victoria into public to do the shopping?”

"Hmm, I don't know. I don't think we should wait too long but let's give her another day or two to settle in with us and the cat. Then maybe we could take her to see Hettie and Thomas to start with." John shifted and wrapped around Sherlock until there was no air between them. "What do you think?"

“We should likely introduce her to Mrs. Hudson first.” Their landlady had been a bit absent leaving them their privacy while they ‘honeymooned’ as she’d put it, “Aside from that however it’s a good plan.” It was best to introduce her to the best they knew, showing her the better side of life to make her feel more at ease.

"Mrs. Hudson is such close family that I didn't even think about her." John let out a slightly sheepish chuckle. "You don't think she'll mind that we want to turn the upstairs bedroom into a little girl's room do you?"

Sherlock hid his smile against John’s neck. “There is no doubt in my mind that she not only would not mind, she would be happy to assist us in the endeavor.”

"Yeah, you're probably right. I cannot imagine that she would have anything against a little princess in the house. Besides that will really top Mrs. Turner's married ones. Better than the obscenely loud sex I planned on having to top them." John grinned wickedly.

Sherlock nipped gently at John’s skin. _’I don’t suppose obscenely loud sex can still be attempted eventually?’_ By eventually he meant when Victoria was comfortable enough to go to school.

 _'Oh I believe there is a great chance for obscenely loud sex eventually, in fact I dare say that we can count on it.'_ John kept his wicked expression. _'Until then we'll just have to experiment with how quiet we can be instead.'_ John of course meant once Victoria was safely installed and comfortable in her own room.

 _’Hmm a challenge, but I believe we can manage it.’_ Sherlock’s hands were roaming over John, not really sexual despite the tone of the mental conversation.

 _'Yup, I do know how much you like your experiments'._ John chuckled quietly, feeling completely content where he was, tangled on the couch with his mate.

 _’Enjoyable of course, but I like you better.’_ Sherlock was already relaxed but he let himself go almost boneless now. “I need to get a lock for the closet door, prevent cat hair from desecrating my suits.”

John giggled where he was sprawled half on top of Sherlock. “You really think a lock will help? The moment you walk out in one of your sharp suits you will be covered in white cat hair. I think you’ll be fighting a losing war unless you of course come up with something to repel fur from designer clothes.”

He quirked a brow, “There are spells for that you know. I simply have to visit a witch to get the potion. Why do you think they always look so immaculate despite their familiars?”

“I would have been more impressed if you’d invented something yourself but I do like the way you look in those suits of yours sooo, I suggest you find yourself a witch.” John was still giggling softly. 

“There are several in London, one in particular that I normally deal with, finding is no difficulty.”

“Then there’s no issue, is there? Victoria and that kitten...Love at first sight between them. I think the kitten will be good for Victoria, someone she can take care of, someone who depends on her. That’s just as important as having someone to take care of you.” John looked around the flat from where he was on the couch; looking for the things they would have to change to make their home a little more child and cat friendly.

“Mmm,” Sherlock thought of his own ‘childhood’ and had to agree. He also noticed John’s gaze sweeping the room, “Organization is about to become a part of our lives isn’t it?”

John nodded. “I’m afraid so. Perhaps we can talk to Mrs. Hudson about renting 221C, I believe the kitchen needs to be a kitchen from here on out.” There was more than that of course, their lives would change. No matter how much he would want to there were cases and such John wouldn’t be able to come along on now. They couldn’t leave Victoria on her own and they could definitely not bring her.

“Hmmm,” it was a hum of approval. He’d been toying with the thought of renting C because his experiments were getting a little complicated for just the flat. If he were honest, the lack of organization had been more to hide his nature from John and Mrs. Hudson. After all, his bedroom was rather ruthlessly organized and clean.

John fell back into silence, knowing that they would figure things out both regarding organizing and cases. John had firm belief in that. He picked up one of Sherlock’s hands and played with his fingers.

Sherlock smiled and pressed his lips to John’s jaw, letting his busy mind hammer out a new filing map for the flat and the best way to present the gift he’d be sending his brother and Lestrade.

_**To be continued…** _


	26. Part Twenty-Six

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; Mystrade fluff and some gruesomeness near the end._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-Six._ **

Greg finished his shower, dressed in a ‘ratty’ old t-shirt from his uni days and jeans equally old, and headed for Mycroft’s office, scrubbing a towel over his still silver hair. His body had definitely gone back to his late twenties in form, same as his face, but apparently the vampiric change thought he looked better with gray hair. He actually had to agree as he had a naturally darker skin tone than most people born Caucasian in England and the black hair of his youth had looked pretty boring against it but the silver contrasted. 

He hip-bumped the door open and moved into the chair Mycroft had settled beside the desk for when he was still toweling his hair dry. Greg still insisted on sitting on the corner of the desk when he wasn’t damp and nothing was going to change that.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his mate but was happy that Greg made use of the chair instead of his desk. He didn’t mind Greg coming to his office, not when he was working like this. It never stopped baffling Mycroft how there could be so much paperwork in his chosen ‘profession’. “Really Greg, that shirt again?”

He chuckled, “I love that you can’t stand the shirt, which is only see through in three spots and has no holes so it is not ratty, but you never say anything about the denims.” Which he understood since the shirt was baggy but the jeans fit like a second skin, the age of them making the fabric soft and clinging. “I’ve told you before that the shirt is special so I’m not going to go over it again.”

Well of course he didn’t complain about the denims. In fact Mycroft wouldn’t mind it if Greg wore nothing but those denims, at least when they were alone together. The shirt though, the shirt was horrible and Mycroft was already planning on how it could be lost in laundry. “I just don’t get it, you’ll have your memories of your university days with or without a shirt I wouldn’t even polish my silver with.” Not that he had ever polished his own silver, it seemed like a good thing to say though.

Greg gave him a speaking look, “You try to get my shirt disappeared Mycroft and there will be consequences.” It was an old band shirt, an AC/DC one in what even he had to admit was an ugly shade of yellow, and he fully intended to wear it until it had a hole in it and after that he planned to frame it.

“I might just be willing to face those consequences.” Mycroft muttered but he didn’t really mean it. No matter how ugly he found that shirt, Greg loved it for some reason. “I just wonder what you would think if I gave in to such sentimentality and wore my clothes from my youth...” Mycroft struggled to keep a straight face. The fashion of his youth, well...that was something he did not miss.

Greg’s lips twitched into a grin, “I’d take pictures and send at least one to John before dragging you to some re-enactment camp in England. I can see you now, speaking Norman French and Middle English wearing a great big plumed hat and a fancy tunic and tights.”

Mycroft shuddered. “You drop me in such a horrid camp that has no historical accuracy at all and I might just have to fight my way out of there.” He sniffed. “I was always clad in the best of fashion though, my plume was bigger than all the others.” 

“Darling, your ‘plume’ is legend,” it was a drawl with a thousand dirty connotations to it and Greg waggled his brows purely to get a laugh out of his mate.

“Lord you’re an idiot.” Mycroft couldn’t stop a wide happy grin from spreading over his features though. He sign his name on the last of the documents on his desk with flourish before getting up from his chair only to plop back down in Greg’s lap. “Luckily I seem to have developed an affinity for your special brand of idiocy.” 

“Very lucky,” he draped the towel over the back of the chair and let one arm curl around his mate’s back and the other drape across his lap so the hand was resting warmly on his thigh. He kissed the tip of Mycroft’s nose, “It wasn’t always mine. It got passed on to me just before I left for uni, it belonged to my Dad before then. There are a lot of good memories in this shirt.”

“Hm, you had to play that card didn’t you?” Mycroft picked at the shirt with long, slender fingers. “I suppose I can learn to live with it, even though it looks like a dog with gallbladder problems have sicked up all over it.”

“I never said it wasn’t ugly. That’s why I never wear it in public baby, because it is an ugly, ugly shirt. Freely admitted.” Greg sighed and shook his head, “I should probably retire it I know. One good catch on the threadbare areas and it’s got a hole. I’m just clinging a bit I suppose.”

Mycroft plucked on the shirt a little longer before spreading his hand out in a caress over the soft fabric. He had not grown up like Greg, had never had something to treasure like that in memory of his father, gods he did not want anything from that bastard either but just because such sentimentality was foreign to him personally, it didn’t mean that he didn’t understand it. “Cling as long as you want to Greg, you should wear it as often as you like.”

He lifted the hand on Mycroft’s thigh to cover the one his mate had on his chest with it instead, “I wish you and Sherlock could have had something worth clinging to. Wish you both could have met my Dad actually. He was a great big bloke, looked like you’d need a wrecking ball to knock him over,” he snickered, “Mum’s nickname for him was the Hulk, said all he needed was the green skin and he was set. Had a laugh to match, big and rough and warmer than sunshine in spring. He’d have liked you and Sherlock both.”

Mycroft doubted that, neither Sherlock or he was very easy to like. “He sounds like a wonderful person. I wish I could have met him too.” He did even though his first meeting with Greg’s mother and siblings hadn’t exactly gone very well. 

“He was wonderful, and he _would _have liked you don’t think I don’t know what that look means. Mum and the others are all pretty high strung and easily offended, complete opposite of how Dad was really. If you were to mix John and Mike Stamford together and pump the result up a little bit in bulk, you’d have my Dad, kind of a scary thought there.” Greg tapped his fingers against the back of Mycroft’s hand.__

__“You took the words out of my mouth there.” Mycroft smiled. “I like John and Stamford is a nice man I suppose...He’s put up with Sherlock well enough over the years but a mix of the two of them...I believe your father was better and less scary than that image.” He rubbed the tip of his nose along Greg’s jawline._ _

__He chuckled and turned his head to nuzzle Mycroft’s chin just as someone knocked on the door._ _

__“Sir? A...delivery just arrived for you and Lieutenant Lestrade.” Anthea’s voice came dry through the door._ _

__Mycroft noticed the slight pause there as Anthea spoke and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Whatever this delivery was, Mycroft doubted that he would like it. He got off Greg’s lap and waited for Greg to get up as well before walking over to open the door. “A delivery you say? Do we know who sent it?” Mycroft knew it wouldn’t be anything dangerous, if it had been it wouldn’t have made its way inside the house but he still had a bad feeling._ _

__Greg got up to follow, standing just behind Mycroft’s shoulder, curious as a cat._ _

__“Oh yes indeed we do,” She opened the door of the crate at the exact same time Mycroft opened the door and the fluffy, wriggling ball of living cotton that was a pyrenees puppy came scrambling into the office, tongue lolling in a happy doggy grin as it tumbled to a stop at Greg’s bare feet to sniff at his toes._ _

__Anthea held out an envelope to her employer that was embossed with Sherlock and John’s name on the heavy parchment._ _

__Mycroft took the envelope and opened it, one eye on the fluffball currently wondering whether it should eat his mate or not. He let his eyes roam over the words on the expensive parchment and felt his nose twitch in disdain. Oh this just had his brother written all over it._ _

____

_’A token of our most fervent congratulations on your mating and our gratitude for your recent generosity dear brother. Enjoy.’_

Mycroft looked back at the furry creature. He could already imagine what would happen with his shoes. He just made a choked noise and handed Greg the letter.

Greg read the short missive and gave one, low rolling laugh before bending down to pick the puppy up, much to its wriggling delight. It made happy whines and immediately started licking Greg’s face like mad, prompting more laughter from the former DI. “Easy boy, easy.” He pet the silky soft fur and cradled the puppy in his arms more securely, and in a manner so that the pup could only reach his jaw and chin for licking. “Excitable little thing aren’t you?” He met Mycroft’s eyes with a grin, “We’ll bully Sherlock into paying for damages.”

Mycroft still viewed the puppy with suspicion. “Have you ever actually managed to bully Sherlock into doing something he didn’t want to do? It takes more effort than creature proofing our home. I will find a very high shelf for my shoes.” He’d noticed his mate’s glee at the dog and already knew the fluffball was here to stay. “He won’t be sleeping in our bed, absolutely not.”

“If you say so baby,” he scratched behind the floppy white ears to the puppy’s ragdoll delight and hid his opinion that as soon as the pup started whining through the night because it was lonely, Mycroft would be the first one to scoop it up into the bed. “Did Sherlock send puppy supplies too?”

Anthea smiled in mischievous amusement, “They’ve been delivered and set up in your quarters.”

"Better to take the creature there then, before it decides that my very expensive, very antique desk is a chew toy." Mycroft eyed the puppy in Greg's arms again, it really was rather adorable looking and the smile it brought out in Greg even more so. Still Mycroft had a persona to live up to, didn't he?

Greg leaned over to kiss Mycroft’s cheek, bursting out into laughter when the puppy took the opportunity to lick Mycroft’s face, “Alright come on Midas,” he shifted the puppy in his arms and headed out of the office back to his and Mycroft’s rooms, “Let’s get you used to your new home.”

Anthea was studying the wood grain of the door intently, her excellent poker face just barely strained, “Would you like me to send a message to Mr. Holmes sir?”

“No, that’s alright. I think I need to deliver my thanks in person after he and John has given us such a ...thoughtful gift.” Mycroft was still incredibly wary regarding the puppy. White and fluffy with paws that already showed that he would grow to become a very, very large dog. He sent his PA a somewhat tense smile. “I better go and join my wayward mate before he and the creature go after my shoes. I don’t want either end of the dog near my handsewn leather.” Mycroft nodded at Anthea and hurried after Greg to their quarters.

 

~oOo~

 

It was several weeks later, after he’d returned to duty, that Greg’s warning bells started going off. Since he was vampire now he’d been bumped up to more dangerous cases though he rather thought this one might be more dangerous than first glance would tell. And first glance was bad very bad. It was a bloodbath, in one case literally as one of the bodies was floating in a tub filled to the brim with crimson. The victims were varied, human, vampire, a couple of werewolves midchange, and what looked to be a siren. They’d been slaughtered, in the case of the non-humans some were torn to pieces and he looked over at the UG’s version of a medical examiner and forensics officer, “Do a body part count. There’s something off about this.”

“You don’t say...” The medical examiner mumbled under her breath, delegating the actual grunt work of hefting the body parts out of the large tub to the forensics officer. She didn’t care if the parts were lifted and counted by manual labor or magic as long as it got done. She would have her work cut out for her later on, seeing if there were a whole creature somewhere in that blood soup. Her pointed ears twitched in distaste and her delicate fae sense of smell was rebelling. Not much ruffled her but she had never seen anything like this before and she had seen a lot.

Greg tilted his head and looked at a section of wall that had been recorded already before lifting a gloved hand and wiping at it, revealing lines cut into the brick. “Oh yeah I say. I’d say we need a magic analysis run here once it’s hosed down too.” He stepped back so that the circular spell runes in the wall could be seen by the team.

The others nodded, looking grimfaced. The team were made up of a rather ragtag group, all sorts of creatures working together. They had all taken very well to working under or alongside Greg Lestrade. The man knew what he was doing and he didn’t make rash judgments without having all the facts. 

He walked through the scene, looking for any sort of magic residue, but coming up with nothing. Just blood and gore and what appeared so far to be unused spell runes carved into various surfaces of the basement flat. It set his hair on end and by the time they finished with the scene he was certain that this was the start of something big and nasty. He pulled out his phone and sent a text letting Mycroft know he was going to be late, reminding his mate to take Midas for a walk, feed him, and spend fifteen minutes training him, and telling Mycroft that yes he had to do it himself. Greg had already succeeded in teaching Midas to sit and stay and now they were working on lying down. 

Mycroft snorted as he read the text message before frowning slightly. Of course he could train the fluffball if he needed to, he wasn’t completely incompetent. He was nowhere near as good as Greg was with the mutt of course. Mycroft mostly snuck Midas treats and cuddled him when no one else was around.

‘Watch your back and front for that matter. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. - M’   
Mycroft sent the message with quick fingers before looking down at the white puppy at his feet, looking around the empty room before reaching down and lifting the dog up in his lap.

The puppy rolled over so Mycroft could rub his belly, white tail wagging furiously.

Greg smiled and sent back a reply in the affirmative before heading to his car and heading back to HQ.

_**To be continued…** _


	27. Part Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in posting. Here's the next chapter though.

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; all Mystrade, some vague gruesomeness in the beginning._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-Seven._ **

Hours of analysis and tests and autopsies later and Greg was rubbing the back of his neck and ignoring a low ache of hunger as he frowned at the reports. No spell energy had been used in the flat, the butchering had all been done with a knife, and there were indeed part missing from the non-humans. One missing set of wolf fangs, siren talons, vampire eyes and tongue, and a missing werewolf scrotum and testicals. He did not look forward to explaining that to the pack as the werewolf missing his balls had been the omega. The pack was going to be livid enough that their emotional anchor had been mutilated but there was also some werewolf thing about genetalia being sacred so such an important pack member stripped of part of his genetalia was going to go over about as well as 9/11.

He pulled out his phone and called Mycroft.

“Still working hard?” Mycroft’s voice was warm and low as he answered the phone. He had finished his work for the day and he and Midas were lounging on the very large, very plush couch in their living room. He knew something was going on, Greg hardly ever called, maybe his brother and his texting habits had rubbed off on his mate. 

“Yeah. Need some advice, where would you say is the most soothing place to break really, really bad news to a werewolf alpha?”

“Spontaneously I would say that no such place exists.” Mycroft dislodged the sleeping puppy from his lap and leaned forward, a very bad feeling thrumming through him. “Werewolves are not big on bad news and they don’t mind killing the messenger. If it has to happen I would suggest a forest, somewhere they can give in to their baser instincts and feel at home. No open spaces or cramped rooms.”

“And where I can get the hell up a tree if I need to,” he checked the time and nodded, “I’ll be home in two and a half to three hours then,” he winced as a high pitched, keening yet beautiful wailing came from outside his office. 

Mycroft heard the wailing too over the phone and thought he recognized the voice of a siren, he couldn’t be sure of course but he couldn’t help but wonder just what his mate was in the middle of. The bad feeling grew and mingled with worry. “Be extremely careful. The weres are half human but pack means everything.”

“I know. I’ll be careful baby. Give you a full run down when I get home, technically I have to,” he injected a little humor into his voice, needing it right now, “You being the big bad Master of Britain and all.”

“Mmhmm and don’t you forget it. I’ll be fine with double copies of a written report.” Mycroft did his best to keep his tone light in response to Greg even though he was still worried. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this but if you need him, text Sherlock.”

“I may wind up calling him in on this soon actually. Could use that massive brain with all his obscure ‘why the hell do you know that?’ knowledge. I’ve got to go amour, I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

“See you then.” Mycroft couldn’t in good conscience tell Greg to be careful one more time. His mate knew what he was doing. He bit on his bottom lip before quickly letting out a half whispered “I love you.” Before ending the call. When he wasn’t face to face with Greg this whole emotion thing was still difficult.

Greg smiled at his phone and sent ‘I love you too’ via text before using his office phone to call the werewolf alpha for a meeting in Epping Forest.

 

~oOo~

 

‘Note to self, next time you have to give bad news to a werewolf, bring tranq darts.’ Was what went through Greg’s mind as he walked down at hall to the master suite. He was not fond of treetop tag nor of having a pissed off werewolf swipe at him and connect with his ribs hard enough to bruise. Actually they’d probably been cracked at first but vampire healing and all that. He was starving, exhausted, felt filthy and just a little cranky when he swung the door open and stepped in.

Midas galumphed over to him then paused and started to growl, getting a glare from Greg. 

“Don’t you dare. I’ve had more than enough of growls today Midas. Crate. Now.” He pointed and watched as the puppy ducked his head and whined as he slunk to the dog bed in the crate, looking back at Greg with soulful eyes.

“He’s not growling at you, he smells the wolf on you.” Mycroft leaned against the doorway of their bedroom, having just showered and put on his usual silk pyjamas. He pushed away from the doorjamb and walked across the floor to his tired mate. “How are you?” 

“Cranky, knackered, hungry and I need a bath,” he ran a hand over his face, “Right now the need to be clean is just outweighing the hunger by a tiny, tiny fraction.”

“Well lucky you then who has such a considerate mate.” Mycroft leaned in to give Greg a quick kiss. “Go to the bathroom, the bath is already drawn and waiting for you. You can feed once you feel clean.”

He caught Mycroft at the back of the neck and held him still long enough to press his forehead against his mate’s for a few long moments, seeking peace. “Thank you,” then he moved away, stripping off his uniform as he headed for the bathroom.

Mycroft listened until he heard that Greg had settled firmly in the hot bath before he looked over at Midas in his crate. His heart melting at the wet puppy dog eyes. He walked over and crouched next to the dog, scratching the puppy behind a floppy ear. “Daddy didn’t mean to snap, he’s just a bit grouchy after a long day.” He spoke very softly as he continued to pet the puppy.

The pup licked at his fingers and leaned into the petting with a soft whine.

Greg really wasn’t much of a soaking in the bath person, he did so just long enough to let the heat of the water relax him and then he began scrubbing away the grime of the day, grimacing when the bruised ribs protested the twisting movements he occasionally had to make to reach all of him. He unstoppered the tub, rinsed off with the showerhead, then hitched a towel around his hips, using another to scrub his hair dry. He caught a glimpse of his ribs in the mirror and blew out a breath at the vivid purples, dark blues, sickly yellows, and greens. Mycroft was going to blow a gasket.

He tossed the one towel in the hamper and walked out with the second still firmly around his hips, his lips lifting at the sight of his mate comforting the puppy. He clucked his tongue and snapped his fingers with a soft, gentle, “C’mere boy,” that had the puppy running over, a fluffy mess of joy and excitement as Greg crouched and pet him, murmuring an apology even if the furball couldn’t understand him.

“What the bloody fuck has happened to you?” Mycroft’s eyes had narrowed dangerously and the voice was a growl, even his teeth had dropped as he caught sight of his mate’s bruised side. Mycroft didn’t curse, he just didn’t because stooping to curse words were a sign of an inferior and unimaginative mind but no one had the right to hurt Greg, everything inside Mycroft screamed out for blood.

Greg stood up and went over, cupping Mycroft’s face in his hands, “I just didn’t move quite fast enough baby, settle down.” He pressed against his mate, “I had to tell the werewolf alpha that his omega had been killed, mutilated, and someone had taken his balls.”

Mycroft’s nostrils flared as he tried to get his temper under control. His fangs were still out, digging into his bottom lip. Logically he knew just how bad something like that was in a were pack but that didn’t change the burning rage inside him. Greg, his mate was everything and anyone daring to touch him should pay. In that aspect he was no different than the wolf. 

Greg started to run his fingers through Mycroft’s hair and spoke soothingly, “He apologized. Once he’d calmed down, he apologized.” He’d actually thought the alpha wolf was going to shit himself when his senses had returned enough for him to register whose mate he’d just attacked. 

“He’d better have apologized.” Mycroft grumbled, slowly coming back to himself more and more, pushing his temper back deep inside him. He leaned his forehead against Greg’s bare shoulder. “I apologize, you were meant to be able to relax when you came home, not cuddle me.”

“If I tell you that cuddling you makes me feel better will you smack me?” Greg hid a smile in his mate’s hair.

“I just might.” Mycroft bit his mate lightly, his fangs safely put away. He still shifted though and wrapped his arms around Greg’s torso, making sure to be careful with his ribs. 

“Then I won’t tell you.” He nuzzled at his mate’s temple, “He did apologize and now I’m owed a favor from him. Of course the next time I have to be the bearer of bad news to an alpha shifter, I’m bringing tranq darts.”

“Tranq darts and plenty of backup I hope.” Mycroft lifted his head so he could look at his mate with sharp, penetrating eyes. “Because not even you would go to such a meeting alone right?” 

“My partner had her hands full with the first beta, who was only a little less pissed than the alpha. I’m not Sherlock to walk right into reckless danger baby.” He kissed the tip of Mycroft’s nose.

Mycroft hummed both content and disgruntled at the same time. He couldn’t really explain his mood. He settled himself by snuggling even closer to Greg. “Time to feed.”

“Bed. I fully plan to tell you about today after I feed but after that, I am passing out and I refuse to move once I’ve fed.” He pulled Mycroft toward the bed, not caring that the towel slipped down, leaving him starkers, and landed on the floor. He tugged Mycroft into bed with him and lay down against him, nuzzling the hollow under his ear.

Letting out a small content sigh, Mycroft unbuttoned his pyjama jacket a little so he could pull it away from his neck. He didn’t need to feed as often as Greg did since he was considerably older but he liked the feeling of his mate feeding from him, it was intimate in a way very difficult to explain. Mycroft offered his neck up and wrapped his arms around his mate. “I certainly hope you don’t have to go in too early tomorrow, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest,” he spoke against Mycroft’s throat, kissing the skin and laving his tongue over his slow pulse, “but I do have to be in early.” He let his fangs drop and bit in, letting the flavor of chocolate and wine and blood fill his mouth and swallowing hungrily as it did.

“Try to sneak out before you are completely rested and you’ll have me on your arse. I am not above tying you to the bed to get my way.” Mycroft’s voice was a little more hoarse than normal, his body tingling with the sensations of Greg feeding from him. He ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his mate’s neck, practically pushing his neck into Greg’s mouth.

Greg just made a hum, sucked strongly just to get the little moan that came out of his mate’s mouth, and smoothed his hand up under the pajama top to rest warmly on Mycroft’s stomach as he fed. Once he’d had enough, he licked the punctures closed, kissed the purpling mark, and settled more comfortably. “I have to pull long hours on this one Mycroft. Something bad is brewing and it needs to be stopped before it blows up.” He told his mate about the crime scene, the missing parts, the spell runes but lack of spells, everything.

“Christ, what a mess.” Mycroft looked grim as he leaned back against their soft pillows. “Eyes and tongue missing from the vampire you say? I have a very strict protocol of the vampires under my domain, I’ll see if someone is missing.” The bad feeling was back full force. “The different branches of the Underground are held together in peace by very weak glue. Something like this can cause it all to explode in our faces.”

Greg made a sleepy hum of agreement yet not agreement, “Mage-guards think someone...is brewing a potion...don’t know which one yet but I’ve got...ideas”

Mycroft was practically twitching with curiosity but he could feel the exhaustion radiate off of his mate. “Sleep now, you can tell me about it tomorrow.” He would stay with Greg until he was firmly asleep and then he would go to see if he could find out who the poor bastard of a vamp was.

“Mmm. Love you.” Greg closed his eyes and was out like a light.

“I love you too.” Mycroft knew Greg was already asleep and wouldn’t hear it but he still wanted to say it. He stayed wrapped around Greg for a while before slipping out of the bed and walking into the living room, pulling out his laptop from his office and sat down to do some research of his own. 

 

~oOo~

 

Greg was up with the sun in the morning, putting on a clean uniform and playing a bit with Midas, grinning because he knew the dog hair would just fall off his uniform, unlike the suits Mycroft had forgotten to use the hair repellent potion on.

Mycroft was still sitting on the couch, staring at the screen of his laptop but he looked up at Greg. “Feeling a little less knackered I hope.” He sent his mate a smile even though he was incredibly frustrated. None of his vampires were missing which could mean a lot of things, someone could have been turned without the council's knowing or a vampire out of Britain to name a few possibilities. 

“Much less,” he moved over to kiss the top of Mycroft’s head, “Been busy I see. Find anything?”

“That’s just it.” Mycroft nearly hissed. “I haven’t found a thing. I have eyes all over London Greg, any information usually comes through here but there’s not a trace of anything out of the ordinary. No vampire missing, even the wolf alpha wouldn’t have known about his omega if you hadn’t told him. I cannot figure out what is going on and I don’t like it, I don’t like it in the slightest.”

He rubbed Mycroft’s shoulders, “No vampire in Britain missing. Speak to the other Masters, see if you can find one missing among their charges. If not then there’s someone who’s birthed or changed a vampire without the council’s knowledge.”

“I know.” Mycroft closed the lid of the laptop with slightly more force than necessary. “I know, do you have any idea though how tedious it is trying to communicate with the other Masters? We all think we’re the biggest, baddest and best. It’s like a giant playground of hair pulling and spitballs.”

He chuckled and rested his chin on top of Mycroft’s head, arms draped over his shoulders, “Well they’re all wrong, you are the biggest, baddest, and the best no matter what they might like to think. Funerary rites, vampires have to have funerary rites in home soil within two weeks of death right? Anything else incenses all the older guard on a fundamental level. Well how can our poor mutilated vampire get his rites in home soil if we don’t know where home soil is?”

Mycroft huffed. “No need to placate me, I am aware of my responsibilities. If I shirked my duties just because they were tedious then I would really have been usurped centuries ago.” 

“I was actually trying to hint at giving you a sneaky to poke the other Masters with, not placate you.” He nipped Mycroft’s ear, “And here’s another bit. I think that the potion ingredients were gathered for is to give a vampire magic.”

“I apologize...again.” Mycroft was ashamed for snapping at Greg. “I am grateful for any advice or tip you might have, you know that. Magic huh?” Mycroft clenched his fists to stop his claws from sliding out. “I thought we had broken up that circle but I suppose that was too much to hope for. Do you have any idea what will happen if the potion is successful? It will be free for all on vampire hunting, all the other branches will definitely not approve and that is putting it lightly.”

“Which is why I’d suggest you get a warning out to as many dust griffins and dragons as you can to watch themselves. Gran had this old book of folktales, I’ve got it somewhere in my stuff, had a recipe for ‘giving power to the powerless’ in it. I already told the UG and the only ingredients missing so far are a dragon’s heart and a dust griffin’s liver.”

Mycroft rubbed a hand over his face. “I will send out warnings throughout every channel I have.” This was so bad, Mycroft had hoped for a little peace and quiet but it didn’t look like that was in the cards. “We need to talk to Sherlock and John as well. No matter how farfetched it is, Victoria may become a target if word came out that she has empathic abilities. As my mother so deftly proved, spies and traitors can hide anywhere.”

“I’ll be heading to talk to them after getting the rest of the test results that were run on the runes. I have to wonder, why this? And why now? We did take out the cult, the only head we didn’t collect was DuLac’s and he’s in council custody, isn’t he?”

“He should be, I have not heard anything else, though why he is still alive in the first place is beyond me.” Mycroft gritted his teeth. “DuLac should have been executed as soon as all the information he had was pulled out of him.”

Greg kissed his cheek, “Go kick some arse baby. I’ll call you later and we can debrief.”

“Good luck, keep yourself safe and if you can, stop John from going all soldier boy from the news. Someone in that household needs to be levelheaded.” Mycroft turned so he could properly snog Greg before he had to leave.

He hummed into the kiss, giving it a little more heat before pulling back. “I make no promises about John but I’ll definitely look after my six. Love you, take care.”

“You as well.” Mycroft licked his lips to savor the taste of Greg’s kiss before getting off the couch. If he was going to be intimidating and a hard arse then he needed a shower and a change from his pyjamas to his usual power suits.

_**To be continued…** _


	28. Part Twenty-Eight

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; family time with Sherlock, John and Victoria. DuLac continuing to cause trouble._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-Eight._ **

Sherlock nibbled on a biscuit and turned the page in the police report Gregson had sent and rolled his eyes. Dull, and quickly solved.

John raked his fingers through thick curls and put three teacups on the kitchen table. He moved over to Victoria’s seat and placed a kiss on top of her head before sitting down on a chair and pulling his teacup close. “Just tell Gregson to hand you something more stimulating next time, no need for eye rolling.”

Victoria giggled, having grown much more comfortable in the last several weeks. She even went out with John on walks with Lily. “Is it really, really boring?”

“Exceptionally so,” Sherlock reached out and tweaked her nose, “I can almost feel my brain cells falling asleep.”

She wrinkled her nose at the tweak and swished her legs, “What are we doing today?” She’d slowly been developing a sense of adventure, so long as John or Sherlock were very close to her she enjoyed exploring.

“What do you want to do?” John asked, something warm and lovely blooming inside him a little more everyday he was blessed with his little family. “We could go to Regent’s Park, feed the ducks and see if Lily wants to chase them. Or we could go shopping.” John laughed at Sherlock’s horrified expression at that suggestion. “Or we could visit the museums, I’m sure Sherlock can guide us through some horrid torture devices and such.” 

She wrinkled her nose, “Yuck. Art instead?” She liked art, the paintings and drawings and sculptures. Her most used ‘toy’ was a little watercolor set Mrs. Hudson had given her.

Sherlock’s lips twitched, “I believe we could be persuaded to visit the National Gallery.”

John grinned and took another sip of his morning tea. “Yes, I haven’t been to the National Gallery in forever, who knows, I might actually learn something.” John was a very simple man at heart. He didn’t dislike art but it wasn’t a passion of his. He would do anything though if it put a smile on either Sherlock or Victoria’s faces.

Sherlock gave him an amused look, “You learned about teapots and ciphers the last time we went to the National Gallery.”

“Mmm and what a joy that was.” John still felt guilty that he has left Soo Lin alone, even then all his worry had been for Sherlock, a vampire instead of a human girl. The thing he felt most guilty about was the fact that he would do the same thing again if put in a similar position. “Hopefully this visit will be somewhat less eventful.”

“We can certainly hope so.” Sherlock sent a rush of affection and comfort over their bond just as someone knocked on the door. “Not Mrs. Hudson, she’d still be asleep.”

John nodded, it was early morning and Mrs. Hudson slept like a log from her Herbal soothers so it was very unlikely it was her. Still it was someone with a key to the downstairs door which narrowed the field of suspects dramatically. “Greg or your brother then.” He got up from his seat and went to open the door.

“Mycroft would just unlock the door himself John, you know my mate is sneaky.” Greg gave him a rueful smile.

“Ah but he stopped just letting himself in after he found me and Sherlock...Um, wrestling on the living room floor, don’t you remember?” John threw Victoria a look as he let Greg in. “Tea? There’s biscuits and toast as well if you feel like chewing something.”

“Fraid not John, this is a business visit. Sorry.” He saw bright green eyes peek around the kitchen doorway and Victoria smiled at him and waved.

Sherlock nudged her back into her chair and went to stand beside John, “Do you have a case for us? Something the UG is willing to share with an outside contractor?” His tone was pure surprise. The UG never consulted, ever. though that was more for security reasons than doubt of Sherlock’s capabilities.

“Somewhat. I did get permission to share,” he handed Sherlock the file, “but I’m also here because you need the heads up.”

That made John frown and he stepped closer to Sherlock, trying to read the file at the same time as his mate but that was a hopeless endeavor. Sherlock the genius read much quicker than he did. “Heads up, I really, really don’t like those words anymore.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” Greg leaned on the wall and watched the two other men.

Sherlock knew how slowly John read and so he waited for his mate to finish one page of the report before turning to the next, his mind using the extra time to sift through everything important and fit the pieces together correctly. His eyes narrowing into pale slivers of temper as he finished the report. “You think if they know,” he glanced toward the kitchen.

Greg nodded, “Yeah.”

John growled dangerously. “If they try anything, they die, easy and simple.” He was aware that it wasn’t that clean cut but no one, absolutely no one would be allowed to touch as much as a single hair on Victoria’s head. “Who the fu-...fig are they though? That’s what I want to know.” John reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that he and Sherlock were a target from the work they did but he hadn’t anticipated this. The fact that the same people who had mutilated and killed all those different creatures could be after their Victoria, it made him sick.

“That’s what we’re working on finding out. That and the who, because the cult was taken out, or so we think. It may actually be just one person.”

Sherlock examined the crime scene photos, his mind easily putting him into it. “It is just one, the cuts are all one method, one style, French surgery knife.” 

John nodded slowly. “He or she know what they are doing though.” He pointed toward the photos of the body parts. “No hesitation marks or ragged cuts. A solid knowledge in anatomy, or at least how to cut meat properly, knowing where bones and muscles are and so on.”

“DuLac was a butcher before he became a vampire.” Sherlock met Greg’s gaze.

“I was afraid you were gonna say that.” Greg sighed, “I’ll keep you updated. This case, don’t work it without me alright? No running off on your own.” He flicked a look toward the kitchen, “Too much to lose if you do.”

“Please keep us in the loop Greg. We’ll be patient for now but if trouble comes knocking on our door all deals are off.” John crossed his arms over his chest nervously. “I will do whatever it takes to protect my family, absolutely anything.” 

“If it comes directly to your door John, I’d expect you to take it out so hard that its soul was whimpering for mummy centuries after the fact.”

Sherlock’s lips twitched, “I will...behave. For once Lestrade.”

“Appreciated.”

“Let us know if you’re in over your head.” John managed to send Greg a grin. “For now we still have a visit to the museum to prepare for. We will be careful but I refuse to hide.”

“Never would expect you to. Hiding isn’t really your strong suit anyway,” he moved to the kitchen doorway to say goodbye to Victoria and wish her a good time at the museum. Then he waved and exited the flat, pulling out his phone and sending a text to Mycroft. ‘Found anything about Dulac yet? - GL’

‘It appears the cockroach have gone missing, no one knows how it happened and all of them is placing the blame on each other. - M’

Mycroft was extremely angry, he was texting Greg on a brand new phone since his previous one had had an unfortunate meeting with the wall after Mycroft found out that DuLac was not in custody or dead as he was meant to be. 

‘Since I don’t think he can walk through walls just yet someone had to have let him out. - M’

Oh fuck him sideways. Greg rubbed at the center of his forehead and replied. ‘I’ll put out a BOLO for DuLac. Just left Baker Street, Sherlock called it on DuLac of course, they’re going to a museum today, promised beforehand, so CCTV going to have a workout today. - GL’

‘I’ll make sure the cameras know where to look. Now I have a bloody useless council to take apart...again. Watch your back, seems DuLac is smarter than I gave him credit for and I doubt he has any warm feelings for either of us. - M’ 

Mycroft stabbed the screed with his finger so hard it groaned in protest. He reigned himself in, knowing that Anthea would not be happy to get him yet another phone.

‘I’ll watch my six, you do the same. Love you baby. - GL’ He tucked his phone away and got into his car, heading for his next stop, a witches shop.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock was aware of the cameras following their progress through London and then through the Gallery and normally he’d be ducking into the blind spots but in this case he guided his family right into the center of the images. This was one time he’d let Mycroft’s spies do their job because he wasn’t about to let his family get hurt.

John was very much aware of what Sherlock was doing and he adored his mate for it. He was on high alert, even as he held Victoria’s little hand as they watched the art she wanted to see. It would be very stupid for anyone to attempt an attack in such a public place but John wasn’t about to let his guard down. He didn’t feel any strange energy or signs of another vampire close by but that didn’t mean there weren’t any out there. His hunter senses weren’t all knowing, John preferred to trust his gut. “See anything you like?” He smiled down at Victoria, wanting to keep things as normal as possible for her, knowing that she would already have picked up on their tension.

She had but it didn’t make her nervous, cautious of approaching strangers maybe but not nervous. She felt an increase in their protectiveness and responded by paying closer attention to the feelings from the people near them. It didn’t intrude on her enjoyment of the art though. She smiled, “I like it all.” Then she pointed at a Van Gogh painting, “He was sad wasn’t he?”

“I think so, at least from what I’ve read.” John looked at the painting too. “A beautiful sadness though.” John was definitely not an expert, he couldn’t tell one sort of brush stroke from another but he knew what he liked and what he didn’t like. 

Sherlock nodded, “He was sad, and lonely. An artistic genius but one who didn’t have the luck to find someone who liked him as he was for who he was. He gave us all beautiful things to remember him by however.”

“Very beautiful things, paintings that mean that he will never be forgotten.” John tousled Victoria’s copper colored curls gently. Once again he was insanely grateful that his genius had accepted John’s love. He could think of few worse things than the thought of Sherlock being lonely and sad. 

Sherlock gave him a meaningful look and picked Victoria up, to her giggling delight, so he could stand even closer to his mate as they moved on to the next room, housing Pissarro, Renoir, and Seurat paintings.

It was a joy to see Victoria get so inspired by all the different paintings and artists they watched. John suspected their walls would be full of new art when they came home and she got started with her own creating. John actually had fun and he didn’t give a damn what anyone might think as he reached for Sherlock’s hand, holding it as they walked through the museum.

Sherlock happily tangled his fingers with John’s and listened to Victoria’s chatter and answered her questions, though he had to smirk when they came upon Vermeer paintings. It was, all in all, an uneventful outing. They picked up some takeaway for John’s dinner on the way home, Victoria chattering a mile a minute about which paintings she’d enjoyed most.

John settled in with his curry and Victoria with her blood as John ordered Sherlock to feed Lily. It was nice being back home, especially with Victoria so happy and animated. Another reason it was nice being home was that their flat was easy to defend if the worst should happen. Since they hadn’t heard anything from Greg or Mycroft, John could only guess that things were still up in the air. 

Sherlock scooped the appropriate amount of food into the kitten’s dish, refreshed the water, then sat at the table, idly fiddling with the salt shaker. John had instated a cast iron rule that they all sat at the table together for meals, even if Sherlock wasn’t eating. He didn’t see a reason to argue even though it could get a bit dull once Victoria began nodding off into her blood, which happened a lot. She was still on predator timing, hunt, eat, sleep once in a safe place, a cycle of necessity.

 _’I love you, thank you for sitting with us.’_ John knew that Sherlock would rather be off doing something instead of just sitting but even though John was the only human in the household he still wanted them to be a family and have their meals together as much as it was possible. It might be old fashioned and silly but John believed in closeness and family values. As unorthodox as they were, they were a family and John loved the time they spent together, even the quiet, still times. 

_’I may not understand it but it does seem an important sort of thing to familial relations. And I love you too.’_ Sherlock answered a question Victoria asked about Titan without missing a beat.

 _’Believe me love, I am no expert on familial relations either but I want our family to be better than the ones we grew up in.’_ John ate his hot spicy curry in quick bites, smiling at a very drowsy Victoria and continuing to shower Sherlock with affection through their bond.

It wouldn’t be all that difficult to manage but Sherlock didn’t make that comment, instead accepting and returning John’s affection equally. By the time John finished eating and they’d cleaned up the kitchen, Victoria was yawning with a pout on the tail end of it. Sherlock smiled at her, “Clean up for bed. I believe we’re on chapter seven.”

“Uh-huh, s'posed to be the tea party.”

“Yes.”

She hopped down from her stool, used to stand on while helping John with the dishes, and headed toward the bathroom, knowing her pajamas would already be set up for her on top of the hamper for when she finished her bath.

John whistled some song he’d heard on the radio a while back as he filled the tub with water for Victoria. All in all he thought the three of them had gotten a hang of living together and being a family quite nicely. “Okay, in you go bug, the water should be alright in temperature.”

She hopped in and took a soapy cloth to start scrubbing herself down. She tended to finish baths quickly, didn’t really like lingering in the water when there was a story to be read. She tilted her head back and let John wash her hair and back for her before getting rinsed off, dried off, and diving into her blue pajamas that were covered in little white kittens.

“Go read about your tea party with Sherlock. I’ll clean things up in here.” John leaned down and kissed Victoria’s forehead before pulling the plug in the tub and straightening up. Usually he listened in on story time, just to hear Sherlock’s voice. Gods, that voice still made him all shivery and John suspected that it always would. 

“Kay,” she scampered upstairs, Lily on her heels, and practically dove into bed.

Sherlock had to chuckle as he tucked the covers up. The kitten ignored the cat bed on the nightstand and chose to curl up on the pillow next to Victoria’s head as Sherlock settled back and picked up the book they’d been reading. “Ready?”

“Yes please.”

“There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. `Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,' thought Alice; `only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.'”

John finished cleaning up the bathroom and moved around the flat, straightening a few things and tossing a cautious look out the windows, not that he could see anything suspicious. He stayed downstairs because honestly, Alice in Wonderland had always freaked John out. Harry had read it to him when they were little and she had read it in such a creepy way that he had been scared of everyone wearing hat for nearly a year afterwards much to her amusement. Now he didn’t know if it was the book itself of the memories of his sister that weirded him out more. He walked up when he figured the chapter was close to finished so that he could wish Victoria goodnight before she fell asleep.

“-she found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.” Sherlock closed the book, smiling at Victoria struggling to keep her eyes open, and looking over his shoulder at John entering the room. 

“How come a raven is like a writing desk anyway?”

“No one knows. It was a riddle that Carroll never gave an answer to.”

Privately John thought that Lewis Carroll had been a loon of the highest degree but he didn’t say anything as he walked over to the bed and bent down so he could kiss Victoria again. “Goodnight Princess, sweet dreams.” He scratched Lily and smiled at the rumbling purr that rose from the tiny cat. “You know that we are just downstairs if you need anything.” 

Sherlock kissed her brow, “Anything at all, bad dream, glass of water, what have you. We’re there if you need us.”

She smiled and snuggled deeper into her bed, “Kay. Thank you. G’night.”

John tossed a quick look around the room, making sure the small window was locked up tightly with no way for anyone unwelcome to get inside. Then he and Sherlock walked downstairs again, John sinking down in his usual armchair.

Sherlock, being Sherlock, chose to sit in John’s lap like the space stealing twat he was, hands up to his mouth in thinking position.

Letting out an amused huff, John shifted so he could wrap his arms around his impossible, beloved mate, pull him close and get them both comfortable. “What’s going on in that massive brain of yours love?”

“DuLac and whomever his accomplice is as well as that potion. it won’t work.”

“That won’t help all the people that have been killed to make it or comfort those left behind.” Sure, John was relieved that Sherlock said the potion wouldn’t work, that there wouldn’t be any magical super vamps to battle but DuLac was still dangerous in himself and he couldn’t help but feel for all the victims in this mess. “Mycroft should have ripped DuLac’s head off even though he stepped down from the challenge.”

“Rules John, there are rules even Mycroft must follow. My point is that they are risking not only vampires but the entire Underground coming after them based on a potion that will do nothing for them, something they should know from the wording of what the potion is for alone.”

“Fuck the rules.” John grumbled under his breath but didn’t comment on that further. “So about the potion, are DuLac and whoever he is working with just stupid or do they have another agenda behind it all?” 

“I’d say they’re stupid. Unless he’s working with a human, in which case there might be a problem. And still, the entire Underground will be hunting them. Who would be so arrogant to assume the entire community wouldn’t find them? Even DuLac isn’t _that_ stupid.”

“That’s actually what I am worried about.” John sighed and leaned in to nuzzle his nose against Sherlock, something that never failed to comfort him on some basic level. “Because no one can be that stupid...except for Anderson perhaps and that means DuLac is planning something other than the whole potion debacle as well. For some reason he doesn’t seem worried about the entire Underground hunting him down and that scares me.”

Sherlock turned his head to let their lips brush. “DuLac will want revenge on Mycroft before anything else. This recipe is old, obscure. If Lestrade didn’t have that old book of tales I doubt we’d even kn-Oh!”

John’s arms tightened a little around his mate’s slender form. It was clear that his genius had thought of something and John had never been very good at fighting down his curiosity, especially not when it had something to do with Sherlock and his brilliance. “You’ve thought of something haven’t you?”

“Mmm,” he pulled his phone out and sent a text to his brother, “He is attempting to frame Lestrade for the murders, to hit Mycroft where it would hurt and distract him so that while he’s busy taking care of Lestrade, he can do whatever he has planned.”

“Bastard!” That single word came out as a venomous hiss. “DuLac’s still got his eye on becoming Master then has he not? No one except the tremendously idiotic ones could ever believe that Lestrade would commit murders like these ones.” John was nearly bubbling with indignation and anger on Greg’s behalf.

“There are a lot of idiots out there however John and many who are envious of my brother and would like to bring him down a bit, what better way than going after his mate? I already sent him a text to warn him.” And he expected a call or reply text involving unusually blue language at any moment.

“Dear Gods, I wouldn’t want Mycroft’s job if it came with golden farts and trumpet song.” John shuddered. “From what I’ve witnessed, being Master is like being a glorified office manager and all those bloody rules. I was in the army but not even there it was that bad.” John leaned in so he could breathe in Sherlock’s addictive scent. 

Mycroft had ruined another phone, crushed in his fist as he read the text from Sherlock. How could that lice of a man think he had the right to go after Gregory? Mycroft would find him and he would tear DuLac limb from limb and make sure he was alive to feel it all.

“Another one?” Anthea’s voice was surprised and just a little bit disappointed as she preceded Greg into the office.

Greg’s brows went up, “Already destroyed a phone today?” He didn’t even get a step further toward the desk before Mycroft was right there in front of him, looking a great deal like he wanted to bite something, and not in the fun way. He was grabbed and hauled to the chair and found himself blinking at Anthea from Mycroft’s very protective lap. “Okay then.”

Mycroft's arms were like steelbands around his mate's form though he was careful not to hurt his loved one. He'd thougt he known what rage was before but nothing he'd ever felt came close to this. He wanted to protect Greg, keep him safe and hide him away from the world. Right now even the ever trusted Anthea felt like a threat.

"It's not about the potion." Mycroft's voice was a menacing growl. "It's about you, DuLac will try to frame you for the murders. He'll try to hurt you."

“I know,” he lifted a hand to gently rub at the back of Mycroft’s neck, “The Commissioner and I both came to that conclusion earlier and called the werewolf alpha and the siren matriarch in for a meet to discuss it.” He glanced at Anthea then looked at the door.

The dryad took the hint and slipped out, shutting the door firmly behind her.

“I see.” A sliver of frost crept into Mycroft’s tone. “And you didn’t think that was something you might mention to your mate?” Mycroft was still trembling with bare repressed anger, only iron will keeping him from lashing out at his innocent furniture. 

“Why do you think I’m home early?” Greg cocked a brow, “So I could tell you in person you tit, that’s why. We only came to the conclusion an hour ago.”

Mycroft wasn’t really upset with Greg, he was pissed though, pissed that he hadn’t thought of this possibility himself. That both Sherlock and Greg had figured it out before he had. Pissed that he hadn’t taken out DuLac when he could have. Mycroft had a very long reach and he should have been able to make sure DuLac didn’t leave containment alive. “He’s going to die and I am going to make sure it’s as painful as possible.”

Greg didn’t say that the werewolf alpha was absolutely vying for the honor of killing DuLac first nor did he try and tell Mycroft to calm down. He just continued to stroke the back of his mate’s neck.

He couldn’t let go of Greg just yet, Mycroft was aware that he was holding on a smidgen too tight but every instinct screamed at him to protect, defend and keep his mate safe. He couldn’t defend his mother’s actions at all but at this moment he could see how she had gone insane losing her mate. Mycroft couldn’t lose Greg, he would rather die himself.

“It’s okay baby,” Greg’s fingers sifted through Mycroft’s hair gently, “I’ve been put on leave until he’s found and ordered to be around you as much as possible, obviously I didn’t complain much about that bit.”

“I’ll remind you of that once you’ve grown tired of my possessive self.” Mycroft visibly struggled to bank his temper again. He had wanted to kill when he saw Greg’s bruised ribs, now he he wanted to destroy, to hurt. Killing was too easy, he might have to as John as a doctor how to torture someone and keep them conscious enough so that they felt everything done to them. 

Greg nuzzled at the hollow of Mycroft’s jaw, “When you start getting unbearable I’ll just have to drag you to the bedroom then won’t I?”

“Hmm.” Mycroft managed to let up some on his iron grip to make the hold comfortable for the both of them. “We’ll see, right now I just want you safe, even my libido seem to be on hold until I have the fucking flea strapped to a cross.”

“Very Roman of you. Are you going to lose your libido every time someone’s after me?” Because if that was the case Greg and his hand were going to become best friends often.

“I have no idea, I imagine we will have to take in on a case by case basis.” Mycroft actually managed to smile; no one could defuse him or put him at ease the way Gregory did, no matter what was going on. “You might have to entice me.” 

“That I think I can manage. I got you to jump me in your club after all.” That had been fucking fun, pun intended, struggling not to cry out while banging each others brains out in a private room at the Diogenes would forever be high on his list of favorite sex moments.

“Careful mate of mine, I might take that as a challenge.” Mycroft leaned in to nuzzle Greg’s neck. He was still absolutely enraged but it wasn’t an all out fog anymore, clouding his judgment and his mind. 

“I live to shatter that iron control. It’s so sexy when you let go. So take it as a challenge if you want,” his fingers tickled over Mycroft’s neck again.

“Well, I have found that I always perform exceedingly well under pressure, also I’ve never been very good at turning down challenges.” Goose-bumps rose in the wake of Greg’s fingers on his skin and Mycroft struggled not to lean in to the touch. “I will tie you down and drive you out of your mind Greg, that is a promise...After I have had my fun with DuLac.”

“Unlike you,” he angled his head to press a soft kiss to Mycroft’s mouth, “I don’t fight being driven out of my mind so the only complaint I’ll have is the having to wait until DuLac is in bloody pieces for it.”

“I will just have to find him and tear him apart quickly then, incentive is everything after all.” Mycroft’s hands tightened on Greg’s body momentarily as he deepened the kiss. “As I said, I do my very best work under pressure and you my love...Is the very best incentive to finish quickly that I can possibly think of.”

“Mmm flattery, works a little too well on me I think.” Greg nipped lightly at Mycroft’s bottom lip then jumped when his mobile buzzed. He drew it out of his pocket and read the message.

‘Relay message to Mycroft: My network has reported a break in at a hunter run facility. A vial of the were virus was stolen. - SH’

‘Also, why the hell isn’t Mycroft answering his phone? -SH’

Mycroft snorted as he read the messages over Greg’s shoulder and then snatched the phone out of his mate’s hand.

‘My phone had an unfortunate accident, twice today. I am sure you can relate. - M’

He then used Greg’s phone to send out both his private forces and some very special members of the SIS to check out the scene of the break in.

Greg hummed, “Oh yeah now this is territory I know. Blame me for the killings and while you’re busy trying to protect me, sneak into our home and release the virius from here, I’ll bet you anything that’s what the plan is.”

“Mm, I do not feel inclined to bet against you in this particular case.” Mycroft was still staring down at the screen of Greg’s phone. “Just how pissed to you think John will be if I make him return to the hunter society? At least for a while.”

“It’s not John’s anger you’ll be worrying about, it’s Sherlock’s. How would you feel if Sherlock made me go back into a world that had caused me pain?”

“I would want to kill him slowly but unfortunately I do not have the time to take my brother’s feelings into consideration.” Mycroft knew he would pay for what he was about to do but his mate came first, even before his brother. He reached across Greg to press the intercom button. “Anthea, please get me Harriet Watson’s number and information.”

First was a few moments of silence then a sigh, “I will send the information to your e-mail sir as well as reinstate the Sherlock deterrents.”

“....Sherlock deterrents.” Somehow Greg was not surprised.

“Dealing with my brother they are very much needed. I am sure you can understand why.” Mycroft was turning on his computer and opening his his e-mail account so he would be ready when the information came through. He hoped his brother would forgive him for what he was about to do...eventually.

“You’d better add to the security around 221 permanently if you’re going to do this baby, before you push John back into that world. It’s not just Sherlock and John who will be in danger from the hunters anymore remember.”

“I have already thought about that, I would never put my niece at risk, you must know that Gregory. I have already increased security as well as paid my witch contact a very, very steep bounty for casting a notice me not spell on Victoria.” Mycroft sounded a little hurt that Greg would think he would put that little girl risk.

“Mycroft,” he turned his mate’s face toward him, “I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose but you can be a little single-minded at times baby and forget some things when in the midst of a detailed plan.” It had happened before and Sherlock had nearly gone back to drugs, or rather drugged blood, because of it. “I don’t want you doing something you’ll kick yourself about later.”

“I am aware of the risks...However I cannot afford not to do this.” Mycroft wished that Greg understood but he supposed he could understand if Greg didn’t. Mycroft had spent a very, very long time making decisions that made other people uncomfortable or worse. That was the price you paid for being in his position. 

“Okay, just don’t get mad at me when I remind you of things.” He did understand, though he knew Mycroft would think that he didn’t, but it was his job to make sure Mycroft remembered that there were people who’d be affected by this long after it was over and done with.

Mycroft released a deep breath out of his nose. He was aware of the consequences. He had lived with such all his life. “I do not make any promises regarding my anger.” His eyes flipped to the screen when there was a ping of an incoming e-mail. 

Greg pressed his lips to Mycroft’s temple, “I love you so I’m making it my responsibility to look out for you and protect you, even from your own actions baby. I don’t like to see you hurting so that’s all it is. I fell for you exactly as you are and I’m not after making you change.”

"Thank you." Mycroft felt so much at that moment. Such relief and such love but he didn't have the words to express all those feelings so a simple inadequate thank you woul have to suffice. Not for the first time he envied Sherlock and John and the bond they shared, he wished he had a way of showing Greg all the things that was inside him without having to voice them.

He kissed the side of Greg's neck and looked at the information on Harriet Watson, what he saw did not impress him but he would call her anyway. Miss. Watson might be a below par hunter but John was not and Mycroft needed John in the game so he could protect Greg.

“You’re welcome,” Greg eyed Harry’s file and pursed his lips, “Yeah not only is she more likely to want to gut us than help...she’s kinda, really bad at being a hunter. Seriously, she buggered up a slime demon execution. How is that even possible? They’re slow, stupid, and really, really easy to turn into compost.”

Mycroft had to agree with that, really reading her file it was more like a joke than information on a true hunter. The point of contacting Harriet Watson was to get her to bring John back into hunter society for as long as he was needed but Mycroft started to have second thoughts. “Do you believe she actually have access to a serious hunter guild? Maybe I need to think of another way of getting John involved.”

“Doubtful, really, really doubtful that she does. I’d say to talk to John first actually. He may have turned his back on it but before that, according to the supposedly sealed files I might just have looked up when I joined the UG, he had the highest skill scores in over three centuries, and that was before he turned seventeen. He’s probably got a standing invitation to any guild in the country.”

“My clever, sneaky mate.” Mycroft felt a small shiver of pleasure run down his spine, he did adore sneakiness and when it came from Greg it made all the better. “I believe I will follow your advice and talk to John.” If he laid on the guilt and pointed out that it was all to keep Victoria and Gregory safe in the long run, Mycroft was sure he would get John to agree.

Greg kissed the tip of his nose, “Just be a little nice to Sherlock when he starts having a fit.”

“I will be as nice to him as he deserves.” Mycroft sniffed but leaned in to press his lips against Greg’s as he commandeered Greg’s phone again to dial Sherlock and John’s landline. 

Sherlock blinked at the phone that John was getting up to answer. Not many actually bothered with the landline as it was the most difficult way to get a hold of him or John. The number certainly wasn’t up on any of the websites so it certainly wasn’t a client. It had to be someone they knew, and fairly well.

John answered and raised a brow in surprise when he heard that it was his brother in law on the other side. He listened to what Mycroft had to say, nibbling on his bottom lip all the while. He could see the sense in Mycroft’s suggestion but it was a part of his life that he’d firmly left behind. Trying to backtrack now, it wasn’t something he felt comfortable doing but of course he would agree if it would help to protect his loved ones. Greg and even Mycroft himself belonged in that group, no matter how much of a git Mycroft could be.

Sherlock frowned, feeling the distress rolling off his mate, and got up, pulling the phone from him gently. He recognized the number on the ID screen and already felt his hackles raise, “What did you just say to my mate?”

“Hello to you too little brother, how nice to hear your dulcet tones.” Mycroft rolled his eyes at Greg. Sherlock could be so meddlesome. He’d been on the verge of getting John to agree. “I just informed John of a break in, in a very secure hunter facility and that his skills and contacts in that world could prove very useful in catching DuLac and whomever he is working with.”

“No,” it was spoken in a restrained tone that made it clear Sherlock was holding back a violent growl. Every last protective instinct he had was raising his head at the thought of John being tossed back into hunter society. They’d _hurt_ him the last time he’d been in that world and Sherlock wasn’t about to let him go back into it. He just wasn’t. “If it was a break in, forcing John into the midst of hunters won’t get you anything Mycroft. Especially since he smells of me.”

John who still stood next to Sherlock lifted a hand and placed it on his mate’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. He didn’t like Sherlock being upset, especially not when he was the cause. Still he couldn’t help but feel relieved that Sherlock understood why he didn’t want to go back.

“I think you underestimate your mate, John is very competent and he is the only way into hunter society that we have.” Mycroft felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose; he always did when he was trying to reason with his brother.

“I know precisely how competent John is, brother. You do not need a way into hunter society and I won’t stand for you to guilt my mate into it when it’s not necessary.” He kept his voice cold and logical; burying his anger that Mycroft would even consider trying this. Logic and calm would sway his brother away from whatever madly complicated scheme he had far more than anger and threats. “I can catch DuLac without even poking my nose into hunter territory, he won’t have risked approaching any hunters Mycroft. It would be too risky for him and he is at heart a coward.”

“A desperate man is capable of anything, coward or not.” Mycroft sighed into the phone. He could practically feel Sherlock’s anger radiating through the receiver. “You want to protect your mate and I need to protect mine. I give you twenty-four hours to catch DuLac then, after that I will have another conversation with the esteemed Dr. Watson.”

“Fine,” it was hostile and cold but they both knew exactly where they stood with each other, always had. He knew Mycroft’s individual interests would always supercede brotherly ‘loyalty’ and that was the way it would always be. “You can expect DuLac’s head on your desk within a day.” He clicked off, his silent way of telling Mycroft to go fuck himself.

“Well that went well.” Mycroft dropped Greg’s phone on the desk in front of them, silently planning on how to provide some sort of backup for his brother that wouldn’t have Sherlock biting his head off.

Greg had heard Sherlock, enhanced hearing was a blessing at times, and he cupped Mycroft’s head in his hands, carding his fingers through the soft, dark hair soothingly. “Went better than I expected actually. He didn’t threaten you or shout or really even snarl.”

“He wanted to though, he wanted to very much.” Mycroft leaned into Greg’s soothing touch. “Besides an icy cold Sherlock is much more lethal than a snarling one. If Sherlock gets hurt in this hunt, then I believe I’ll have a very, very angry ex hunter after me.”

“I think you underestimate your brother baby. DuLac is an intestinal worm, not nearly dangerous enough to put Sherlock into danger.” Not on his own that was and unless he had a hunter ally who equaled John’s strength or another vampire who was older than Mycroft or a demigod, there really wasn’t anyone who could take Sherlock on and win.

“You are probably right, I still worry though. Despite our issues and past he is my baby brother.” Mycroft leaned his head against Greg’s shoulder. “I will keep vigil via CCTV for now and keep a team on standby if Sherlock should happen to need the help.”

“I have a feeling the only help he’s going to need is with the conversation he’s probably having with John right now,” he kissed the top of his mate’s head. “And you and I are going to go take a nice long soak in the bath right now then settle in for a movie night.”

“Mmm, best suggestion I’ve heard all day.” Mycroft certainly did not envy Sherlock the conversation he and John would be having; there was no way that John would be happy with Sherlock’s decision. “Let’s go run the bath then, I’ll even let you choose the movie later on.” Mycroft couldn’t wait to get out of the office and into their quarters. There he could relax with his mate and be himself.

_**To be continued…** _


	29. Part Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the end of the road for this story. Thank you so much for having read it. Who knows if we’ll revisit this universe some time, so many stories still to be told.

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

 **Warning:** _Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; family time with Sherlock, John and Victoria. DuLac continuing to cause trouble._

**Love isn’t brains children, it’s blood.**

**_Part Twenty-Nine._ **

 

Sherlock stood and met John’s deadly glare evenly, waiting for his mate to break the silence, either mentally or verbally. He wasn’t going to start the conversation, for once, even though the silence was already tearing at his nerves.

Unconsciously John had reverted back to his military posture and was practically standing at attention as he held his mate’s eyes. His hands were clammy with temper as he clasped them behind his back. “Exactly how is your solution better? That you go after him rather than me calling on a few old acquaintances?”

“Your old acquaintances are more likely to be doing the hunting when they learn that you’re mated to a vampire and caring for a vampire child. With me going after him, I’m the one hunting. I meant what I told Mycroft, the hunters won’t have anything, no information, no ties to DuLac. I’d be willing to wager that the ‘secure’ facility is one I could break into half-drugged and hallucinating.”

“I don’t doubt that, you are brilliant love.” John still wasn’t happy though. “Don’t you see though, I don’t want you in harm’s way either. You’re not supposed to go where I can’t go with you.” He looked nearly miserable; John knew that they couldn’t leave Victoria with a babysitter. Even if Greg and Mycroft was DuLac’s real target she could still be in danger until DuLac was dealt with.

“I know,” he stepped close to John, sliding his arms around him, his voice soft, “I know John.” He tucked John’s head under his chin. “But even as dangerous as it could be, this is the safer option, for all three of us.” He knew John could see that so he wouldn’t belabor the point. “You won’t lose me John, and you’ll be able to talk to me the entire time and make sure I’m alright.”

John wrapped his own arms tightly around Sherlock’s narrow waist, taking comfort in the solid embrace of his beloved mate. _’Believe me, I will look in on you regularly. Don’t want to distract you though.’_

_’I’ll check in with you in quiet moments once I leave the flat too. I promise.’_ He rubbed his cheek on the short cap of blond hair. “And once DuLac is gone, the major dangers should be over and done with.”

“That was what we thought after Moriarty and Moran as well.” John huffed out a laugh. “I don’t mind the regular small time baddies but I would really like a break from the major ones. Spend some time with my family...Perhaps even marry the man I love.” John knew that the bond they had, it went deeper than any marriage could but he still would like to wear Sherlock’s ring and have Sherlock wear his. 

“That sounds about right.” Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s temple, “After all, I have to make sure the human idiots know you’re taken don’t I? We’ll just leave Mycroft to solve his own problems after this too.”

“I am starting to doubt Mycroft’s all-knowing abilities; to me it looks as if he couldn’t find his way out of his own ar...um a paper bag without your help.” John ran his lips over Sherlock’s jawline. “The taken part I like though and it goes both ways...I think Gregson has been casting lusty eyes on you on the crime scenes and we can’t have that now can we?”

Sherlock frowned, “He has?” That was a singularly distasteful thought. “That makes an already high priority rather urgent.”

“My thoughts exactly. If he undresses you one more time with his eyes I might just have to break his nose.” John nibbled lightly on Sherlock’s chin. “Good copper he might be but he needs to keep his eyes off of what is mine.”

Sherlock angled his head down enough so his lips pressed against John’s. _’All yours yes, and happy about it. Rings, definitely getting rings as soon as this debacle is over and done with.’_

 _’Love you.’_ John held on to Sherlock a little while longer, noticing the bright green eyes watching them. Victoria always seemed surprised by them hugging or showing each other any physical kindness. He couldn’t help but wonder just how bad her time with the gits who’d sired her had been. John always tried to hug and kiss her as much as possible though, wanting to make up for any hardships she had been through.

Sherlock felt John’s distraction and turned his head, giving a soft smile to Victoria when he saw her in the doorway. He shifted and held out an arm for her, “Want to join us in a hug?”

“Come on.” John held out one of his arms as well. “I think a big family cuddle pile is just what is needed right now.” He lifted her up when she tiptoed over and smooched her between him and Sherlock hugging her and placing smooching kisses on her soft cheeks.

Sherlock wiggled his fingers over her ribs, coaxing a few giggles out and earning little arms wrapped around his neck along with a plea to stop, which he did. “What do you say to a movie on the telly while we pile together?”

“Ariel?” Big green eyes lit up hopefully.

The Little Mermaid had been watched and re-watched so many times that sometimes John woke up humming one of the songs from it in the middle of the night. How could anyone say no to those eyes though? John knew he couldn’t. “Ariel it is, who knows, this time Sherlock might get his wish and Sebastian finally ends up cooked.” He sent his mate a grin.

“That crab is a menace,” he spoke in cool disdain that for some reason made Victoria giggle as they headed for the couch and he used the remote control to bring up the TiVoed movie.

John made sure that they all snuggled up in the couch, Victoria in between them with Lily in her lap. John stretched his arm out behind Victoria until he could play with a lock of Sherlock’s hair as they watched the movie. For now he would relish the time with his family before worry would crawl its way inside his mind when Sherlock left. Right now they were all here and all safe and John would enjoy it.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock rubbed his fingers together, mind analyzing and cataloging the residue that had been left behind in the hunter’s facility. He’d snuck in very easily, just as he’d known he could, and was now going over the roped off scene of theft. It took him less than a minute to fully absorb everything and then he was up and sneaking back out, smooth and easy as you please. It was pathetic how bad their security was. Really.

He ran along rooftops until he was an appreciable distance away from the facility and heading toward his next destination. _’Going to Barts to get a close study of some residue.’_

 _’Alright, be safe and don’t drive Molly spare.’_ John sent a wave of affection along with his words. It was hard being left at home, even when guarding something as precious as their daughter. He didn’t want Sherlock to feel guilty for being out though; he just wanted him to be careful.

 _’I’ll be on my best behavior.’_ Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk, knowing John’s opinion of his best behavior around Molly. St. Barts was the same as always, stuttering and nervous Molly included, though since his return and obvious relationship with John she’d seemed to have put a concentrated effort into getting over her crush on him, and it was appreciated. She still let him in for lab work though, which was more appreciated.

He began putting the residue through analysis. He already knew it came from a damp environment, damp and cold, immediately bringing a sewer to mind but he didn’t think DuLac would be sheltering in a sewer, he was far too vain for that. He pulled out his phone as the analysis ran, bringing up a sewer map and other locations where cold and damp would be commonly found near the facility. DuLac wouldn’t range very far afield; he’d want to keep a low profile until he made his move.

Molly placed a mug of steaming coffee next to Sherlock, black with two sugars. So much had changed but she hoped that his taste in coffee was still the same. “Everything alright? Anything I can do to help?” It wasn’t easy, just shutting off the feelings she’d had for him for so long but she realized that John was the one for him. Sherlock was too intense for Molly, she still wished him the very best though and she would never stop caring about him.

“No at the moment. I’m waiting for the analysis to finish,” he ruled out places that only had very public entrances, again DuLac was keeping to the shadows and wouldn’t want to be seen. He remembered the rules of etiquette John had been pounding into his head however and continued speaking, “Things are somewhat unsettled at present however that should change soon,” his eyes swept over her, “Your cat is ill?” He tilted his head in question.

“Oh...I...Yes.” Molly knew she shouldn’t be surprised, not any longer but Sherlock’s ability to observe always stunned her. “Toby chased a fly up one of my bookshelves when it tipped over him. He fractured a hind leg but he will be okay.” She had been so scared though and now most of her furniture was bolted to the wall to prevent any more accidents like this one. Toby was her best friend, no matter how pathetic that might be.

“Good,” he tapped out a few more locations, “I may ask your advice on cat behavior eventually. There is plenty of reading however firsthand experience is always better.” He sent the story to John along with a query on if they should take steps to prevent such a thing happening at their home.

“Cat behavior?” Molly tilted her head in curiosity. “Is it for a case?” She couldn’t imagine why else Sherlock would want to know about cats; it didn’t seem like something he would collect data on.

‘Have brought out the screwdriver, Victoria is helping me. - JW’ John and a very worried Victoria were already in the midst of bolting furniture to the wall. 

‘Anything you need to keep mobile? - JW’

 _’No.’_ And that was absolutely true. Sherlock was not a big fan of change and since all the case clutter had been moved to 221c, there was nothing that needed to remain mobile in the flat. As far as he was concerned it was all just right exactly where it was. He flicked through the remaining locations as he answered Molly, “Not a case. John and I have guardianship of a nearly six year old girl; my brother chose to acquire a kitten for her as a welcome.”

Molly was gaping, slack jawed and shocked. She knew she was gaping but she could not help herself. John and Sherlock parents? To a little girl? And a cat on top of everything. It was baffling. And something deep, deep inside her twisted just a little. If Sherlock wanted a family after all, pets...Why couldn’t he have wanted it with her? It was selfish and bitter and she pushed the thought away as soon as it entered her mind. “O-of course. Anything I can help with I’m here for you.”

“Thank you. It is appreciated. Ah,” he sat up and looked at the results of the analysis as the machine beeped. An alge. “Hm interesting.”

Still feeling quite shell-shocked, Molly hurriedly turned her mind to whatever analysis Sherlock was running. Science was easier to take in than Sherlock Holmes the family man. “Interesting? What are you looking for if I may ask?”

“Somewhere near this facility,” he showed her the map on his phone, “Damp, cold, not much foot traffic, and considering the analysis, exposed to sunlight.” That left three obvious locations, “The facility recently suffered a break in where a bio-agent was stolen. I’m looking for places near it that the culprit would choose to distribute the agent.”

Molly frowned and looked at the map, squinting to see properly. “Christ, I don’t think I really want to know what sort of case you are working on now, it feels safer not to know. If I was a madman planning to unleash a bio-agent I would do it here.” She pointed on one of the spots on Sherlock’s map. “Underground water reservoir, drinking water reaching most of London.”

If Sherlock had animal ears they’d be perked up eagerly. “Yes that would be the best vehicle. Thank you Molly,” he sent a text to Mycroft and a thought to John about where he was going now. _’I should be home soon.’_ He stood up and slung his coat on. 

“Well...Best of luck to you.” Molly rocked on her heels for a while before moving to gather the untouched coffee cup she’d placed in front of Sherlock so she would remember to rinse it out before she started Mrs. Thamsin’s autopsy. 

_’Be careful love. We’ll be waiting for you.’_

_’I will.’_ Sherlock rushed to the reservoir with his usual speed then set about sneaking inside, eyes adjusting to the change in light rapidly as he descended. He’d only made it halfway down when a dark growl caught his ears and then he was ducking to avoid a hellhound’s charge. He dodged claws and savage bites until he was able to flip up behind the hound, grip its head and twist until a loud crack echoed off the walls as its neck snapped and it fell down dead.

DuLac hissed to himself as he noticed the energy of the hellhound he’d had as a guard vanished. It seemed as if time was running out. He wanted to take the cost he had paid for the hellhound out of his intruder’s flesh but he was smarter than that. He would dump the virus as quickly as he could and then hopefully sneak out undetected. The fortune he had paid that simple witch for detection and distraction spells should keep even one of Mycroft’s men busy until he had made a clean getaway. 

Sherlock left the hound corpse where it was and, knowing that its death would have been noted, ran down, following the scent of the corrupt former councilman. For some reason he noticed the spells trying to direct him away and hide DuLac but wasn’t affected by them. Which was bloody good as he spotted DuLac just as he was uncapping the vial with the virus inside. One strong leap and he was knocking the Frenchman away from the water source, hand clamped around the wide wrist to keep him from flinging the barely closed vial.

DuLac bared his fangs and growled angrily. Of course it was the malfunctioning Holmes, how he had gotten past all the spells so quickly though was a mystery and when he got out of here he would make that bloody witch pay for her uselessness. "Out to do your brother's bidding?" DuLac sniffed the air and recoiled in almost horror. "You really are sick...You and your brother both. Mating with a human and you haven't even turned yours. Does the power of knowing how much stronger you are are thrill you? Humans are for fucking and food...anything else is like marrying your dog." DuLac did his best to twist his wrist out of Sherlock's hand so he could dump the virus.

His hand tightened around DuLac’s wrist savagely, the bones cracking beneath his grip, and his voice was a low growl, “You know nothing, you little parasite.” He twisted his hand, sliding it down to catch the vial as it slipped from DuLac’s limp grip. He tucked the vial into his coat and spun away so that should the vial break, it wouldn’t touch the water. “Though as I understand it you’re rather fond of your dog so perhaps you speak from experience.”

DuLac snarled and and kicked out, managing to land a kick on Sherlock’s leg. “Please, even if you don’t have standards I do. Though honestly I would prefer my dog to the filth you have thrown your lot in with, at least the dog is a pure bred.”

Sherlock sneered in disdain and gripped DuLac’s ankle, yanking the pathetic idiot forward so that his other leg buckled and his head impacted with the ground, hard. He set his foot on DuLac’s hip, wrenched the knee of the leg he held out of joint, and kept twisting until the hip had popped out of its socket and the ankle was broken. “Oh I have standards,” he bent and picked DuLac up, throwing him across and into the wall hard enough that it probably broke something else. “I only choose the best and as my mate is a hunter that shattered all previous hunter records at seventeen I certainly do have the best.” He pulled DuLac down and brought his knee up, breaking ribs and cracking a vertebrae or two as he slammed him back against the stone wall again. “Considering that your own mate left you just after bonding I’d say that puts me on a higher level than you.”

He wanted desperately to scream, everything was agony but DuLac couldn’t get the sound out. All that came out were some blood spattered wheezes. This was not how things were supposed to go, he was supposed to finally get his rightful place as Master after having finally gotten his revenge on Mycroft and his _’mate’_. He could barely move but he still tried to crawl forward, if he could only get his hands on the virus he could get his revenge still, even if he wouldn’t be around to enjoy it. Coughing up more blood, DuLac spat it out and stared up at the other vampire. “Fuck you.”

“You’re not my type,” Sherlock whipped his hand up, claws out, and ripped through DuLac’s neck, gripping his spinal column and twisting in just the right way, severing it and ripping off DuLac’s head. He let the twitching body drop and strode out to hail an Underground transport so he could deliver DuLac’s head to his brother as he’d said. He made sure the vial containing the virus was securely closed before he exited the reservoir and slipped into a cab driven by a night hob.

It was a fast ride to Mycroft’s and one, narrowed, irritable look at the guard of his brother’s that tried to direct him away had him inside and stalking to his brother’s office, DuLac’s head dripping blood onto the carpet.

“Really Sherlock, do you have any idea how expensive it is going to be to clean my carpet?” Mycroft looked up from behind his desk at his brother. Sherlock truly had a thing for theatrics but Mycroft supposed that he couldn’t argue with the results he produced. 

Sherlock just dropped the severed head onto Mycroft’s desk, smirking as the blood splattered some paperwork. “Never let it be said I don’t keep my word brother.” He met Mycroft’s gaze, warning in his, “And never again approach John about hunter society. I don’t care what is at stake.” Because if Mycroft ever tried to guilt John into that again, it would be his head laying on the desk, the council’s reaction be damned.

“Point made.” Mycroft poked at the severed head with distaste and managed to roll it into the wastebasket by using a pen to nudge it. Clean up would get to it later but he didn’t want DuLac to ruin any more of his work, especially not by oozing on it. “Everything worked out splendidly, no need to be so grumpy.”

A dark brow winged up, “And how ‘grumpy’ would you be if I were to try and guilt Lestrade into walking back into the arms of his personal demons like you did to John? No matter how ‘well’ things worked out, you still made that move.” He turned and left the office to let his brother chew on that. He was going to clean up a bit in the garage and deliver the vial to the UG commissioner in person then head home.

Mycroft watched his brother leave the office and pressed the intercom button to tell Anthea to have a cleaning crew come to his office and remove DuLac’s head and the blood. He did understand Sherlock’s protective instincts toward his mate, he did but he was also honest enough to admit to himself that if the situation arose where he would have to use John’s demons against him...he would do it. Mycroft was happy though that he hadn’t called in John’s sister, he could only imagine how Sherlock would have reacted to that.

 

~oOo~

 

Sherlock stepped into the flat, relaxing at the sight of John sitting on the floor helping Victoria to paint, having obviously finished bolting down everything in case of future cat related incidents. He closed the door, meeting John’s eyes before going over to look at Victoria’s painting of a white semi-blobbish thing on a black background. Considering Lily’s position in his chair he was guessing she’d been painting the cat. “Been keeping busy today then?”

She nodded, her nose wrinkling, “You smell funny.”

He chuckled, “Decontamination shower. I’ll be taking a real one in just a bit to get the smell of disinfectant off.”

“Welcome home love.” John got up from the floor so he could give Sherlock a quick kiss before stepping back, wrinkling his nose. “You really do smell, even without super scent I can smell it. Still...This is a better smell than many of your experiments.” John grinned and wrapped his arms around his mate again. “Thank Christ that you are home and safe.”

Sherlock slipped one arm strongly around John’s waist and filtered everything that had happened to him over their mental bond. He wasn’t guilty or angry or much of anything except fearful. He was afraid, no he was terrified, that despite his warning Mycroft might try and force John back into the hunters’ society just for the advantage of an inside man. It was exactly something his brother would do and he’d know just the right buttons to hit, the right way to guilt John into doing it.

John did his best to soothe Sherlock, both by their bond and by touch. For Sherlock and Victoria he would do anything, Mycroft knew that and he could exploit it but John hoped that he wouldn’t. _’It’s okay, if he tries something sometime, I’ll have you there to remind me just what a git Mycroft Holmes really is and that I should not listen to anything he has to say.’_

 _’I’ll kill him.’_ It was a quiet thought, should probably have been disgusting to him but it wasn’t. _’I told him as much without saying it out loud. If he tries it again I will kill him.’_

 _’Oh love, I won’t let you do that and you know it.’_ John understood what Sherlock was saying. He would stand between his mate and his biological family any day but he didn’t want Sherlock to have to live with the consequences of doing something like that. _’We’ll team up and kick his arse all the way to Ireland before leaving him in Greg’s tender care.’_

 _’Lestrade would be nice. We should leave him in Hettie’s care instead.’_ He nuzzled at John’s hair.

John snickered, his arms still tight around Sherlock. _’Hettie’s and Anthea’s, that would hurt him more than the actual arse kicking I think.’_

Sherlock made a soft little hum and stood in John’s hold for a little while longer before moving back, “I’m going to take that shower,” he ran his hand over a still painting Victoria’s hair, gaining a happy smile up at him, “I can hardly stand my own smell.”

 _’Yes please, go get cleaned up...I want my delicious Sherlock back so that I can lick every inch of you later on.’_ John smiled at his mate and went back to sit on the floor by Victoria. “Now when you’re finished with that I think it’s time you did a portrait of me. I mean this nose needs to be immortalized don’t you think?” He winked at Victoria and turned his nose up in the air.

She giggled, “You’re silly. Sides I’m not good enough at people yet so you hafta wait.”

“I don’t know about that, you’re already much better than I’ll ever be but I can wait...We have all of the future in front of us as a family.” John tweaked her nose and settled in to watch her create.

Sherlock didn’t take long showering and was soon rejoining his family in the living room. He sat behind John, wrapping his arms around him, and rested his chin on his mate’s shoulder. “How did the cat securing of the furniture go?”

“It went well, everything is firmly bolted to the walls now though I had to put my foot down when a certain somebody wanted to glue the books and plates in place as well.” John sent their redheaded princess a fond look and placed his hands on top of Sherlock’s, enjoying their closeness.

He chuckled at the sheepish smile Victoria sent their way, “Well thoroughness is a good thing in most cases.” 

“Indeed it is.” John was completely relaxed now that Sherlock was back, that their little family was gathered and intact together. “I believe Lily will be completely safe from furniture related accidents.”

“But one must wonder if the furniture will be safe from her.” It was spoken with amusement, his mind thinking of sharp little claws.

“Yes that is another matter entirely. I fear your dear leather couch is living on borrowed time my love.” John turned his head so that he was able to press a kiss to Sherlock’s temple.

“Nu-uh!” Victoria’s voice was emphatic, “Lily’s got a scratching post and she’s too smart to scratch up the couch.”

Sherlock’s lips twitched in amusement, “Oh is that so?”

“That’s so.”

John threw a look at the nearly comatose kitten sleeping in Sherlock’s chair. He had his doubts about Lily’s intelligence but he would keep those to himself. Who knew, Victoria might just be stubborn enough to keep her kitten from touching the furniture. “Far be it for us to contradict you princess so we’ll take your word for it.”

She just nodded as if that was exactly what she’d expected and went back to painting.

Sherlock just closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth radiating off John and the sounds of home. This was perfectly what he’d always needed and wanted. A true family. It might have taken a few centuries to find it but the wait had been worth it.

_**~Fin.~** _


End file.
